Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension
by MrKlortho
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the “normal” category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Speical Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
A/N: VERY IMPORTANT!!: I know how this chapter looks. Believe me I do. All I can say is please, please, please read the whole thing before passing judgement. That is all.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

It was early morning in the Sunnydale Memorial High School Library, well before any of the students were scheduled to arrive. Sunlight filtered in through the windows, bathing the scratched and weathered conference table a warm, golden shade of brown. The far off sounds of birds chirping filled the air with peaceful reverie, while the musty and worn smell of the old books pleasantly reminded one of more innocent days.

Unfortunately, this perfect moment was fleeting. Since the room itself was situated on top of a Hellmouth, it mainly played host to supernatural acts and devilish occurrences that left people screaming in terror.

However, one had to quickly learn to enjoy the peaceful moments, because they didn't come around often. It was exactly this feeling Rupert Giles, Watcher to the current Slayer, felt as the door to his library swung open.

He walked with a spring in his step to his customary spot behind the book return counter. His whistling joined the bird calls as he went through his morning routine: hang up his coat, put the tea kettle on, return any weapons or demonic texts to the cage, and straighten up the books.

When he finished he went back to leaning on the counter, savoring his first taste of scalding hot Earl Grey.

_Today is going to be a good day_, he thought. A small sigh of contentment escaped his lips.

Only Giles' quick reflexes saved the tea from splashing down the front of his shirt when the front doors burst open, shattering all tranquility. He set the teacup down just as Buffy stormed in with Willow hot on her heels.

"Or apparently soul crushing," Giles muttered to himself.

"Aaaaaggghhh!" Buffy threw her hands up in frustration.

"Buffy," Willow said, "you know he was just looking out for you. That's what he does, he's like," Willow started stammering, "He's like...Oh! Your own full coverage policy at Slayers of Omaha."

"Please, when do I need help with three vampires? I'm pretty sure this whole Vampire Slayer package comes with the ability to, you know, slay."

For Giles, the first whispers of a headache began to form, even with a liberal amount of nose pinching. "By your tone and level of ranting, I assume you're talking about -" Giles began.

"Don't say his name!" Buffy yelled. She marched right up to the other side of the counter, her expression fierce.

"This morning he will simply be referred to as my irritating boyfriend who thinks I'm some damsel in distress that can't manage on her own." She kept poking Giles in the chest to punctuate her point.

She paused for a moment. "Or 'Jackass' if, you know, you're a fan of brevity."

"Aww, but I love it when you call me 'The Hunter.'"

All three heads in the room turned towards the voice at the door. Standing there, glowing with the familial embrace of the warm dawn light, stood Xander Harris.

The shocking changes his body had undergone over the last few months rippled throughout his frame. Standing at just over 6'5, and weighing in at 270 pounds of rock solid muscle, his body would put any Mr. Olympia to shame.

His apparel was no less intimidating, especially to the evil community of Sunnydale. His army fatigue style pants fit snugly on his lower body, while the black Lycra shirt he wore hugged him like a second skin. The leather duster flowed like a river just above his black combat boots. The collar was flipped up, bathing his always present five o'clock shadow in darkness.

The overall effect was magnificent in its deadliness.

Today however, it did nothing to impress his girlfriend.

"Uh-uh, I'm not talking to you," she said with her back to Xander.

Xander chuckled as he tossed his coat on the counter. "Come on Buffy, I didn't do anything wrong." He turned towards Willow, "Will you please tell her that she's overreacting?"

"Uhh, I -" Willow started.

"Don't bring Willow into this!" Buffy yelled, "She's just as upset about this as I am, aren't you Willow?"

"Okay, I ahh -"

"Willow's a big girl; she can speak for herself, right?" Xander said.

Giles raw fingers furiously polished his glasses. The sight of Willow, darting her eyes back and forth in terror, greeted him as he slipped the frames back on.

"Children," Giles began, "am I to assume there was some sort of issue with the slaying last night?"

"Oh no, no problem," Buffy said, jabbing her thumb in Xander's direction, "except that Mr. 'I've never read _Feminine Mystique_' thinks that I can't do my own job."

Xander's calloused hands shot up in surrender. "Hey, I'll admit, I was being a little stupid last night."

"A little?" Her eyebrows almost melded into her hairline.

Xander rolled his eyes. "Okay fine, I was the King Cretin of the wonderful land of Idiotville. But to be fair, I'm a guy: when it comes to our women, we're supposed to be caveman-like and lose all capacity for rational thought."

"When did you ever have it?"

He pointedly ignored his girlfriend, and instead caught Giles' eye, "Hey G-Man, didn't you ever do something stupid for a girl?"

Giles' face colored. "Well, I, err," he stumbled, "it was a long time ago. You don't want to hear about it."

Xander's eyes lit up. "Oh, now you have to tell us."

Giles ripped his glasses off once again and started to polish. "Alright, fine. For a lark, I once dressed up as Professor Arnold McFudpucker. It was for a Halloween gathering, and the girl, her name was Diana, well, she had the most fascinating -."

He stopped short. _They don't need to hear about that particular wonderful attribute_. "Well, er, Diana had a, err, certain fondness for Benny Hill."

He was met with three blank stares. "Benny Hill? Really, none of you?" Giles asked incredulously, "Oh, but if it had some sort of teen heartthrob or contrived romantic entanglement, I'm sure you would all know it intimately," Giles said bitterly.

"Oookay," Xander said, while Giles took a few seconds to recover his decidedly British composure.

His expression grew much more serious as he slowly approached Buffy. "Of course I know you can get the job done. I just, I just worry about you so much."

"Xander," Giles said, "I know that the hyena possession has left you with a few, ah, 'special abilities'. But you should never discount what Buffy can do. She is, after all, the Slayer."

"I know that, G-Man. That's what I love about her." While he spoke, Buffy intently studied the carpet.

He willed her to look up and meet his eyes. "I know you're powerful and strong, and that you can take anything thrown at you. But I still worry, I still get scared. I know how evil all vampires are, how dangerous they can be," Xander tipped up her chin with his hand. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I don't know what I would do without you," he said.

"Oh Hunter," Buffy whimpered. She threw her hands around the large man's neck, kissing him with unbridled passion.

From her chair, Willow faked a cough when the kiss ventured into uncomfortable territory. Buffy and Xander pulled apart slowly, matching glazed over looks on their faces.

Eventually Xander approached Willow with outstretched arms and a welcoming grin. Willow moved to return his hug, but instead of wrapping his arms around her, he wrapped them around the legs of her chair. She squeaked at being lifted five feet off the ground.

"Oh, come on now Willow. Even though one of the abilities from the hyena possession is an inexplicable increase in my intellect, you're still my bestest study partner and buddy in the whole wide world."

Though she still appeared terrified at being held up, she rewarded his efforts with a tumultuous smile.

"Thanks Xander," Willow said.

Sputtering and coughing sounds made their way from Giles position, as he choked on his tea. "Good lord, is that a gun?" he asked, pointing at Xander's back.

"Oh this little old thing." There was a note admiration and self satisfaction in his voice as he reached behind him. He took the time to examine the gun from every angle possible. He then pulled the clip out, checked it, slid it back in, and cocked the gun. "It's a Desert Eagle Mark VII that I've modified to fire my own ammunition."

He handed it to Giles, whose thinly veiled disdain melted into interest at the mention of the modifications.

"What kind of ammunition?" Giles asked.

If at all possible Xander's chest seemed to inflate with even more pride. "Well, I was able to convert the casing on the .357 shells to hold hawthorn chips and holy water in the center. It's like a widow maker for the undead."

"That is absolutely remarkable," Giles said sincerely as he handed the gun back to him. "The Council has tried for years to create some sort of artillery that would be effective against vampires. Their best minds have been unable to accomplish it. How did you figure it out?"

Buffy wrapped her arms around Xander's middle, burrowing her head into his chest. "That's my Xan," she said, "accept no substitutes."

Xander kissed the crown of her head. "Well G-Man, I was stumped for a little while. Then I just thought that -"

Suddenly, his muscles tensed and strained.

"What's wrong, Xan?" Buffy asked, a worry line forming just above her nose.

He untangled himself from Buffy, all the while scanning the library in quick, precise movements.

When he didn't answer, the rest of the group became nervous.

"Xander?" Willow asked.

"Something's not right," he said in a harsh whisper.

He stalked across the library like a tiger tracking its prey. Chills still rolled down his back, a sure sign from his new hyena senses that they were being watched. There was someone in the library with them, someone who didn't belong. His body attuned to every creak, every flash of light. He would find them. Nothing was completely stealthy.

"Xander, what's out there?" Giles asked.

"Don't know yet. But it's something..nasty." He sniffed the air.

There it was. The back of the stacks.

Buffy changed into Slayer mode, "Willow, grab the sword from under the counter and hide in Giles' office."

Willow nodded, hurrying toward the counter. Xander gently grabbed her arm as she tried to pass. His focus never wavered from the back of the library.

"No, it's okay. I recognize the smell now. It's a combination of sewage and broodiness." The gun that had been securely tucked into his waistband now pointed towards the unseen threat. "Aren't I right, Deadboy?"

Upon hearing the familiar insult, Angel emerged from the shadows, emanating a glare of hate and rage.

Buffy relaxed her fighting stance. "Sheesh," she said while rolling her eyes, "testosterone much?" She walked over to Xander and pushed his arm down. "Put that thing away."

"Hello Buffy," Angel said, focusing entirely on her.

"Angel. What are you doing here?" It was amazing what a little break up could do to someone's tone. What was once was a voice of love, now sounded more of indifference.

Angels eyes widened in surprise. "I came to see you. We need to talk."

"I think she said everything she needed to last week." Xander subtly shifted his body in front of Buffy's, "It's a tale as old as time, Deadboy: girl meets vampire, girl likes vampire, girl dumps vampire for guy with pulse. Or is that too complicated, Captain Hair Gel?"

Angel growled. "Listen boy, I was fighting the good fight since before you were a spot on your daddy's pants."

"Well, that's, eh, a rather unpleasant metaphor," Giles mumbled.

"Angel," Buffy began as she moved around Xander, squeezing his arm, "I'm sorry but you have to accept that we're over. I mean, yeah, it was great for awhile. But I'm sixteen and you're pushing 240." Her eyes widened, "Oh, not that you don't look good for your age or anything."

Angel stalked toward her. "Buffy, you can't tell me you don't feel it. We're destined to be together."

Xander snorted. "Oh jeez, nice line. What are you going to tell her next, 'Your legs must be tired because you were running through my dreams all night'? Even I would never stoop so low."

Angel's jaw tightened as his eyes turned from brown to golden yellow.

"Umm," Willow said, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. She visibly wilted. "Actually, 'The Hunter' and the Slayer are destined to be together. It's prophecy."

That revelation caused two distinct reactions: Elation for Xander, shock for Angel.

"What?" Angel croaked.

"Oh, it's really interesting actually." Willow's confidence grew now that she was talking about something academically related. She ran into the cage, glancing at the various books of demonology until she found the one she was looking for.

She furiously turned the pages. "Here it is," she thrust the book right under Angel's nose.

With a cursory glance he handed it right back to her. "I don't speak Hittite, Willow."

Willow's face was as red as her hair. "Oh, ah, ummm, well…"

Giles stepped up and gingerly grabbed the book from her hands.

"Yes, well, the gist of the passage says that the Slayer will meet and fall in love with 'The Hunter,' a powerful ally that she will know first as a friend," said Giles.

"How do you know it's Xander?"

"Ah, well, this line here," he held the book up to Angel and pointed to the line in question, "it says that 'The Hunter' will start off a normal associate of the Slayer, but through a mystical possession will come into certain abilities, like increased intelligence, strength, dexterity, healing -"

"I think I got it," Angel said.

His posture drooped as he clutched the railing to the second floor. The library was deathly quiet, no one daring to make a sound; three people out of compassion, one person because he didn't want to piss off his girlfriend.

It started off small. Just a shake of the arms, maybe from gripping the railing too tight. But the shaking fed on itself, looping and growing more desperate. It reached a point where Angel's shoulders looked like they would pop from their sockets. He whirled back around; a mad, desperate look on his face.

"Doesn't anyone find this whole thing strange?"

Buffy shrugged her shoulders. "Strange isn't always bad."

He laughed harshly. "I can't believe after everything that's happened you're going to let a prophecy determine your feelings."

The crack of Buffy's hand reverberated throughout the room. "How dare you say that!"

Her face radiated white hot rage. She seethed at the vampire in front of her.

"You were the one who sat there, doing nothing, just waiting for me to die because of a prophecy! If Xander hadn't dragged you to the Master's lair, I'd still be laying face down in that puddle!"

Angel's face twisted into a malicious grin as he looked to Xander. "I bet you wasted no time in telling Buffy how heroic you were, did you boy?"

"Nope, didn't say a word. Didn't have to." He was loving every minute of this. "Apparently word of your expeditions to the 'Yellow Bellied' territory made it to most of the dark creatures in Sunnydale. They got a real kick out of it too; the once mighty Angelus cowering in his basement apartment."

Angel tried to dart toward Xander, but was stopped by Buffy latching on for dear life.

"Not helping," she gritted out.

This time Xander shrugged his shoulders. "Don't care."

"Angel," she started while glaring extra strength at Xander, "I truly am sorry for the way things turned out. If things had been different, I don't know, maybe WE could have been different. But at the end of the day, you're a vampire, and I'm -"

"The Slayer."

Buffy shook her head, "A girl. A living, breathing, real life girl who's sixteen and wants more than anything to have a boyfriend who can be seen in public between the hours of 7am and 7pm. But it's more than that."

It was like everything faded away for Buffy; everything except one man: Xander. Their eyes met, and that invisible bit of electricity touched them both. Her body ran on autopilot, taking her to him without a conscious thought. It didn't matter that her ex-boyfriend was standing next to her; hell, her mom could have been right next to her in a bathrobe and curlers and she wouldn't have flinched.

"What I feel for Xander, it's almost too much. I look at him and I see my future. There is no doubt in my mind that Xander will always have my back, always be there for me. We can keep lying to ourselves Angel, but we both know that this would end with one of us in tears."

Angel stared at the both of them, his mouth gaping open like a fish. He started to slowly back away, his arms up in surrender as groans of pain escaped his lips.

It wasn't everyday you had your heart ripped out of your chest.

Suddenly those groans turned into sobbing, the sound muffled because his hands were now covering his face.

"Jeez, I didn't think he'd take it this badly," Willow said. Xander and Giles nodded their heads.

Buffy slowly reached out to Angel. "Angel, it's going to be -"

No one heard it in time. What had started off as sounds of crying had morphed into something much more sinister, something that was almost maniacal.

Lightning fast, Angel's arm shot out, clutching Buffy around the throat. Cries of shock rang out, but before anyone could move, Angel used her body as cover.

Angel tightened his grip on her neck and Giles, Willow and Xander froze. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Loverboy. You get any closer, and I might just accidentally snap her neck."

Xander's body poised for attack. "You're dust Deadboy."

"Angel, what the hell are you doing?" Buffy asked between gasps of breath.

Angel leaned in close and whispered, "What I should have done a long time ago."

"I knew it," Xander said, "I knew the nice guy act was crap."

"Of course it was an act," he said, "Usually I'm the love 'em and leave 'em disemboweled type, but I thought I would try something different with the Slayer. So I pretended that I was rehabilitated and was looking to 'make a difference.'"

His lips pursed, as if he had tasted something particularly unpleasant, "I mean, if I didn't play nice, do you think I would have ever had the chance to sample her goods before I systematically destroyed every bit of her life? I have to admit though; it hasn't been easy pretending to be a goody-goody in front of you people. Hunting vampires, fighting the good fight. I mean, the amount of time and creativity alone I've put into hiding my kills. Let's just say that if any of you plan on eating at the Doublemeat Palace, I would stick with the fish."

"We trusted you," Giles spat, "how could you do this?"

Angel pretended to think hard. "Hmm, gee, I don't know. Is it maybe because I have no soul and I'm evil? I mean that's just my first guess, but I think it could be a winner."

"You won't get away with this," Willow said.

"Oooh, the pastel wonder is gonna threaten me? I'm in big trouble now," Angel taunted, roaring with laughter.

Xander tried to catch Buffy's eye. "Baby, please hang in there, I'll get you out of this."

"Hunter, please, help," Buffy gasped.

The whites of her eyes were starting to show as she feebly clawed at the forearm around her throat. All Buffy accomplished was Angel tightening his grip.

"You know what," Angel began, "this is why I hate role playing: too much improv. I mean, what am I doing, what's the other person doing, are they a Vietnamese waiter, or Charles Nelson Reilly? It's just too complicated. I'm better off sticking with what I'm good at."

He was exerting so much force that Buffy's feet were now off the ground. "You know," he whispered into her ear, "you were half right: This is going to end tonight, but baby, it won't be in tears."

His game face slipped on, and he made the final plunge towards Buffy's carotid artery.

The gun shot rang out like a canon.

Angel's body flew back through the railing, shards and pieces of wood flying everywhere. The left side of his face exploded in blood from where the .357 grazed him. Xander held the smoking gun pointed at Angel, never wavering, while Giles scooped up a semi-conscious Buffy. He laid her on the carpet next to the table.

Xander spoke in a deadly calm voice while Angel struggled to get up, "You know it would be so easy. One of these bullets, bam, pow, right in the kisser, then we'd have no more Deadboy."

Angel teetered onto his feet. The entire left side of his face was covered in blood, so much so that it appeared he was missing his left eye.

"You'd like that," he snarled. "Means not having to get your hands dirty."

"Usually, yeah, you'd be right. If it was any other vamp, I'd squeeze a few out of ole' Betty here and call it a night. But not you, because that's not that the way this is gonna go down."

He tossed the gun into the stacks on the second level. "You're going to die, but it's gonna be by my hand."

Angel slipped into his game face once more before leaping across the table, closing the ten foot difference in the blink of an eye.

Xander didn't move, didn't budge.

Angel snapped off a combination of left and right hay makers, striking nothing but air. Xander, moving faster than any other human alive, avoided every punch.

"Oh come on, Deadboy," Xander said as he bobbed and weaved, "I thought you were supposed to be some lean, mean, fighting machine."

Angel growled, intensifying his attack. His limbs were a blur of deadly precision.

Across the room, Giles crouched next to Willow, both with wide eyed looks of shock and awe.

"I knew Xander was all super tough now, but this is..." Willow drifted off.

"It's somewhat frightening," Giles finished.

Willow mutely nodded.

Even to Giles' partially untrained eye, a pattern to the fight started to emerge. While Xander appeared to be on the defensive to Angel's unrelenting attacks, it was actually a ruse; he was dictating their position.

"Willow," Giles said. She gave no indication of hearing him.

"Willow, please, Buffy needs our help."

That pulled her out of the haze. She looked at Giles, fright in her eyes.

"They're far enough away, we can move her." Giles slid towards Buffy's head, "You grab her feet."

Giles took a firm grip of Buffy's shoulders, while Willow wrapped her arms around her feet. Buffy moaned as they lifted her up.

"Is she going to be okay?" Willow asked as they carried her towards the cage.

"Buffy will be fine," he said as they set her down.

Almost on cue, Buffy began to stir.

"What's he doing, Giles? Why isn't Xander fighting back?" Willow asked.

He looked at Willow and noticed how tightly her hands were clenched together. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"I imagine Xander is aware of what he's doing. He'll be fine. Plus, he knows that if he did lose to Angel, Buffy would never let him live it down."

Xander grinned as he continued avoiding Angel's assault. "You know, I do have to admit this is a pretty good work out. Hey, maybe I can actually skip running tonight. That would be sweet. Heck, maybe I can skip all my exercising! Nah, on second thought that won't work; I still need to get a sparring session in. You know, one that actually involves getting hit."

"Don't you ever shut up!" Angel yelled.

His kicks and punches moved a fraction of a second slower than before.

"Nope, not even a little bit. You know, being the 'Hunter,' it has some perks; super strong, super fast, the ability to shake exactly two aspirin out of the pill bottle every time."

Xander kept avoiding hit after hit.

"But I still say my greatest superpower, the one that keeps me warm on those dark nights, is knowing that at any time, any place, I can annoy the hell out of you."

Xander snapped out his right hand, intercepting Angel's left hand mid punch. With a roguish grin, he twisted the arm up, earning a cry as the bone snapped.

His two quick, devastating left hand jabs to the stomach folded Angel over in two.

He dug his fingers into the flesh of Angel's throat.

Now it was Angel's turn to claw at his hand in terror.

With little effort, Xander picked his body off the floor, fully raising his arms above his head. He paused for a moment, and Angel brought his fist up, ready to strike with one last gasp.

He didn't get the chance.

The wood splintered and groaned as Xander smashed Angel's body down onto the table top like a battering ram. Angel lay there in a daze, body broken, as Xander slowly walked to where the railing used to be.

"You know, even with the power up, I was worried about this," Xander said distractedly. He crouched down, examining the various shards and chunks of wood. "Would I be enough to stop the mighty Angelus? It was always in the back of my mind."

He came back with four stakes clutched in his hands.

"Then you did that cliché of clichés and revealed all your evil plans. Granted, it pretty much consisted of just killing us, but still, classic villain mistake."

His jovial tone melted into barely suppressed rage.

"But none of that mattered, not when you had to choke Buffy, the love of my life. When I saw that arm around her throat, you know what the only thought in my mind was?"

A soul shattering scream cut through the air as Xander slammed a stake into each of Angel's shoulders like railroad spikes.

Xander brought his face to within an inch of Angel's, the anger and hatred twisting his appearance into something ghastly.

"How long can you torture a vampire before you kill him?"

He brought the third stake down straight through Angel's stomach.

He screamed once more.

"You know what the answer is? Neither do I. And we won't find out tonight. Can you guess why? It's simple; you're not worth wasting another second of my time on. You're pathetic."

He took the last stake, and pierced the heart of the infamous 'Scourge of Europe'. Angel faded into dust, his throat locked into one last, silent scream.

Xander's breaths came in heaving gasps, which had nothing to do with the so called 'fight' that just took place. He had done it. The former lowly man on the totem pole. His head could accept the fact, but his heart was still a step slow. That's why his eyes burned a hole into the wood where Angel's body had lain moments before.

"Xander."

That single word was enough to break him out of his trance.

Buffy stood on wobbly legs. He closed the distance between them, wrapping her in a hug that she returned with equal fervor.

He pulled back, caressing her cheek with his hand. "I thought I almost lost you," he choked out.

"I knew you'd be there to save me," she rasped out.

"Always."

His kiss was soft and sweet, and lingered on her lips like a dream.

Suddenly a red blur latched herself onto the hugging couple.

"'dgethimintheend," Willow babbled in one long, incoherent stream.

Giles stepped in. "I think what Willow is trying to say is, bravo my boy, bravo."

"Well, I wish I could say I haven't thought about doing that since I met the guy, but I'd be lying," Xander said.

"I can't believe I didn't see this sooner," Buffy said.

"Yes, well, none of us did. We wanted to believe so badly that Angel had switched to the side of good that we ignored all the contradictory signs," Giles said.

"You didn't though," Buffy said to Xander, "He never had you fooled for a second. You're amazing."

Giles put his hand on Willow's shoulder, guiding her towards the door. "Willow, let's, ah, give Xander and Buffy a few moments alone."

"Okay."

Giles smiled quickly as he exited the library with Willow.

Xander turned back to Buffy, a silly grin plastered on his face. "So I guess this means you forgive me?" He made sure to add his best 'little boy lost' expression.

"For last night's vamps? Oh no, you're still in the doghouse for that little stunt. But I guess I can go easy on the passive aggressive insults I had planned for the next week."

Xander smiled. "You're too kind."

Buffy didn't say a word as she walked up to the dust covered table.

"I know this is going to sound painfully lame, but are you okay?" Xander asked.

"Yeah, it's just," she paused, struggling with her next words, "I thought he loved me. I thought I knew him."

"I know it sucks being betrayed like that, but it could have been worse; you two could have still been together."

"That's true."

"You know, with the way our lives are, I half expect him to come back somehow," Buffy said.

Xander wrapped his arms around her midsection from behind. "No way, he's dust. There's no coming back from that."

"Sometimes when you think you've killed something, it comes back stronger."

Xander turned her around to face him. "Then if he comes back, we'll just have to make sure to kill him again. That could actually be a lot of fun. We could make a date out of it, like putt-putt, but less sinister."

Buffy could only laugh in response as she melted into his arms.

"You know," she said, her expression becoming shy, "My mom is going to be out of town for the rest of the week."

"Oh really," Xander said, wiggling his eyebrows. Buffy giggled and smacked his shoulder.

"Yes you goof. I was thinking that we could make tonight one full of happy memories."

"Just being with you Buffy, that's all I need."

Buffy smiled, cupping Xander's face with both her hands. His eyes closed as Buffy placed feather light kisses on his chin, his cheeks, the corner of his lips, his forehead...

Then his forehead again.

And again.

And again.

"Ummm, Buff, not that I don't like the kisses, but my Aunt Nancy kisses me on the forehead, and believe me when I say I never want to be thinking about her again when I'm with you."

But she didn't stop.

Xander opened his eyes, "Buffy?" The intensity and frequency of her kisses increased.

"Buffy."

"Buffy."

"Buffy!"

His eyes snapped open to find his father, Tony, hovering above him.

Smacking the cordless phone on his forehead.

Xander looked around his messy room in confusion. Why was he here? Wasn't he just in the library kicking the crap out of Angel?

Oh yeah, of course; it was a dream.

Figures.

"Hey," Tony said. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes bloodshot. The stale smell of cheap beer clung to him like a bad date. If Xander needed anymore proof this wasn't a dream, this certainly did the trick.

"Some limey is on the phone saying he needs to speak with you."

"What?" Xander croaked.

Tony smacked the phone on his forehead one more time.

Apparently 'what?' was not the answer he was looking for.

"Boy, why do you have some teacher calling you on a Saturday morning at 8am? What kind of trouble are you in?"

"Umm," Xander said while sitting up. He tried rubbing the sleep out of his eyes while thinking of a valid excuse. Not an easy task when you barely knew your own name at the moment. "He's the librarian, so he's probably calling me about some overdue library books. You know me, can't get enough of that book learnin'."

Tony seemed to consider the thought of his son actually reading for fun. Eventually he tossed the phone at Xander.

"I ain't paying for no fines," he said, the door slamming behind him.

Xander let out a breath of fresh air. Dealing with Tony was always an adventure, let alone at this ungodly hour.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his body protesting the entire way. He was paying for last night this morning. Slaying was like being in a car crash every night of the week. Well, at least it was if you weren't the Slayer or didn't have Wolverine's healing factor.

It didn't matter that he was seventeen and in the prime of his life, his joints still snapped, crackled, and popped like Rice Krispies.

The groan of relief as he stretched the limbs of his decidedly normal 6'0'' body was one of the small pleasures of his day. He twisted, pulled, and rotated all his limbs until he felt like something vaguely human.

Coming down from his stretching high he finally noticed a buzzing in the room. He looked around, trying to find the source.

With a start he realized it was the sounds of an angry British man through his cordless.

"Hey G-iles," he stuttered, "What can I do for you?"

"Yes, Xander, good morning. I hope, err, everything is well."

He must have heard Tony call him a 'limey'. He hoped Giles didn't take it personally; Tony hated all people equally.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine; just hoping Freud was wrong about his whole dream thing holding deeper meanings, because if not, then apparently my issues have issues," he said distractedly.

"Oh, eh, alright. I must apologize; I didn't mean to cause any problems with your father. I couldn't help overhearing."

Xander cringed as he sat back on the bed, "No worries, dad was just being his usual charming self. What can I do for you? Wait, everything is alright, isn't it?" he asked in alarm.

"Oh yes, yes, no problems. I was actually wondering if you wouldn't stop over at my apartment this morning when you get a moment. There was something I wanted to discuss."

Xander rifled through the clothes next to his bed, trying to find at least one shirt within his acceptable smell limits.

"Yeah sure, no problem, even though you're cutting into my lovely summer break. What time is Willow gonna be there?"

"Actually Xander, she, err, won't be coming. I wanted to talk to you privately."

Xander paused mid lift. "Wait, just me? Giles, you're starting to freak me out here."

"It's nothing bad, I promise. But it is rather important. There are certain, ah, events I wanted to go over with you."

Xander cringed. "Giles, if this is about those books I took out; I swear, I didn't even know they had pictures."

"Books, what books?"

Xander spoke quickly. "Apparently the books that don't mean a thing because you need to see me for something important that has nothing to do with any quasi-pornographic material I may or may not have checked out."

"Err, yes. There are certain, ah, events I wanted to go over with you to see if they fit a theory of mine."

Luckily he pointedly ignored the last statement.

"Yeah, okay, sure. Let me just get dressed and I'll head right over."

"Excellent, see you in a little while. Oh, and Xander," Giles said, sounding slightly uncomfortable. "It is perfectly normal for an, eh, adolescent boy to have, eh, unique dreams; Freud not withstanding."

"Oookkkaaay," Xander said.

He desperately, more than anything in the world, wanted to hang up the phone.

"Well, I just don't want you to think you are by any means unusual. Though I may be Buffy's Watcher, I would hope that you trust me enough to be able to accept my support and guidance, both you and Willow, of course."

Giles voice turned whimsical. "In fact, there was a time where I myself suffered from bizarre dreams. I was courting a beautiful young woman during my time in school, and every night I -,"

"Giles," Xander interrupted, "if you tell me you used to dream about dressing up as Professor Arnold McFudpucker, I'm hanging up this phone right now."

There was a pause on the other line.

"Wait, what?"


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Special Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

A/N: There was some confusion in the first chapter, so just to clear up: technically, this story starts about a month after "Prophecy Girl", but it will continue to run through Season 2 of BtVS.

It was 10 AM before Xander stumbled out of his house and started on his way to Giles'. He walked north down the sidewalk, his surroundings fading away from his conscious mind. Why would Giles invite him over without Willow? It couldn't have to do with male bonding: even though they spent a lot of time together in the name of slaying, they weren't particularly close, regardless of what Giles tried to tell him in that incredibly awkward phone call.

He crossed a four way intersection, turning right onto Acri Road. Growing up he hated this road. It was where the rich people of Sunnydale lived; the ones that had what he never would. Perfect, artificial houses lined up in their perfect, little artificial rows. The whole scene could have come straight out of a postcard.

His eyes were drawn to a beautiful two story with a white picket fence. The woman working in the small vegetable garden at the side of the house sensed him watching her. Raising her hand up to her face to block out the sun, she took off one of her gloves, and gave a nice, friendly wave. Xander rubbed the back of his head, and waved back.

It amazed him to think that this woman had no idea whatsoever what the world was really about. To her, scary was getting her credit card bill or wearing the same dress twice to a formal occasion; not dealing with possessed dummies or mother/daughter witches with boundary issues. For all she knew, she was waving hello to the nice normal kid who was out for a morning stroll.

He cut across a backyard, making sure there was no dog out to attack.

If he was honest with himself, he had a feeling this visit was going to be unpleasant. Yes, Giles had said he needed him to test out a theory or something, but he could have said that to make sure he'd actually show up. The fact he was going to be there solo led him to believe Giles was being less than truthful.

He finally reached the front of Giles' upscale apartment complex. Every building stood in Spanish stucco symmetry, the only difference being the house numbers on the front doors. He made his way by memory to the courtyard outside Giles' apartment, taking a seat on the edge of the fountain.

Why was he here? That was the question that kept coming back. Unfortunately, the only answer he could imagine was that Giles was going to ask him to stop fighting. What if Giles told him he was being a detriment to Buffy and her ability to combat the supernatural, or something else decidedly British? Could he do it? Could he walk away? Would it be the right thing to do?

Part of him knew he was probably freaking out for no good reason, but he couldn't help it. This past year had opened his eyes to the truth, and going back didn't seem like an option anymore, no matter how much he may sometimes envy people like the garden lady.

Obviously finding out that pretty much all the monsters you thought were under your bed growing up most likely _were_ under your bed was enough to make him want to invest in a night light and a flamethrower. But on the other hand, he was actually doing something worthwhile, which was more than he ever expected from his life.

He took a deep breath. No use holding off any longer. He knocked on the front door and waited a few seconds for Giles to answer.

Giles opened the door in rumpled clothing, rubbing his red eyes. "Oh, Xander, good, you're here. Please, come in."

The last time he was here he'd joked to Willow that Giles was living in "Quasi-British bachelor chic." There were books strewn across the well kept apartment, including the stairs that led to the second floor. The furniture was plush and upscale, but still comfortable and cozy. The smell of tea was wafting from the kitchen.

There were no dirty pots or pans out and collecting mold like in his house, but the apartment still felt like someone lived in it.

"So," Xander started lightly as he made his way into the living room, "What's the sitch, Giles? Now that Buffy's visiting her dad in L.A., you decided to let me take a crack at slaying. I know I'm a little light on the quips, and, well, I guess the supernatural strength and fighting ability too, but I thi – oh crap."

He was spooked to turn around and find a completely unfamiliar female standing in Giles kitchen, eying him like he was a madman.

Xander let out a nervous laugh. "Aahhhh, and, ummm, and scene!" he said, taking a theatrical bow. "Count yourself lucky, not everybody gets a sneak preview of 'Countess Dracula', our twist on the classic. It's gonna be a big hit at next years Spring Review."

"Xander," Giles interrupted. His eyes crinkled in amusement. "Miss Clearwater knows about the supernatural."

"Oh thank god," Xander said as he plopped down onto the couch.

Penelope emerged from the kitchen, a strange look on her face. "Yes, well." Her speech was tinged with a very pronounced British accent. "It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Harris, I'm Penelope Clearwater," she said, marching over to him and extending her right hand, a cup of tea in her left.

She was the walking, talking epitome of what Xander imagined a British woman should look like. The conservative gray business coat and skirt she wore hid her body type completely, while her mousy hair was pulled into a very strict looking bun. Her face was bare with no noticeable makeup whatsoever. The glasses, while fantastic for actually reading, were completely unisex and devoid of any sense of fashion. She looked like she should be the principal of an all girl school, or the teacher in a Van Halen video.

Xander shook her hand in return. "Hiya," he said, "are you a relative of Giles or something?"

"Not everyone from England is related, Xander," Giles said as he made his way over, his own cup of tea in hand.

"Oh, sorry. I get confused with the whole 'stiff upper lip' thing."

Giles signaled to Penelope to take a seat as he himself sat on his recliner. "Well, be that as it may, Miss Clearwater has come a long way to talk to you."

"Me? What about?" Xander asked in surprise.

"I think it's best if we let her tell you," Giles said, blowing into his scalding drink.

Penelope was in mid-sip before she noticed the two expectant stares. She cleared her throat before speaking. "Well, yes, very well. Mr. Harris," She shifted in her seat so she was facing him, while also smoothing her skirt, "as you have no doubt been told I am a junior ministry official with the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

She plowed on. "Well, junior official is a bit of misleading term. I am the youngest member in the department, this being my first year out of school and all."

Her eyes lit up and she sat the tea cup on the coffee table. "So you can imagine my excitement when my department head offered me the opportunity to come out here and meet you. It's an incredible honor to be sent on a field assignment for someone so new to the department. Mind you, Mr. Butler thought you were some sort of fraud who had duped the ministry. But of course I knew otherwise. If Professor Dumbledore is the one to recommend you, then I believe your skills to be utterly genuine. I expect that when I report back of my success, it will open doors for me that might otherwise have stayed close."

She took a deep breath. "So, to cut to the chase, as you Muggles say, here I am."

Her face was open and her smile pleasant as she looked between Giles and Xander. It dimmed when she didn't get an immediate response.

Xander turned towards Giles. "Ummm, did you understand that? Because I only picked up like every third word."

Giles set his teacup down, flashing Penelope an apologetic look. "I must admit, I was also unfamiliar with the description."

Penelope had a peculiar expression on her face. "The Department of International Magical Cooperation," she said like a question, her voice increasing in pitch. "We're responsible for maintaining foreign relations with other governments? Like additions to the International Statute of Secrecy? Taxation on transatlantic Flooing? Even coordination between using owls and lunch boxes?"

They had no clue what she was saying.

Her posture grew rigid. "Mr. Giles," she said, sounding scandalized, "I must admit I am shocked that you have failed to discuss any of this before my arrival. I was told that Mr. Harris would be fully versed on the situation. This makes things much more difficult."

"Yes, I know." He sounded defensive. "However, knowing Xander, I thought it would be much easier if we were to do this all at once. Not to mention that if I were to tell him about the magical community, at least what little I know of it, before you could test him, it would have only set him on edge unnecessarily."

Flooing? Statute of Secrecy? Magical Community? It was one thing to not know what anyone was talking about, but it was another to have them talk about how you were connected, while acting like you weren't in the room.

"Wait, wait, wait," Xander said, "hold the phone. I have absolutely no idea what you," he said, pointing at Giles first, then Penelope, "or especially you are saying. And this time it's not because of some inside British lingo. All I know is that I was called down here bright and early on a Saturday morning, which is not only really weird, but it is also cutting into my usual eighteen hours of sleep. So can somebody please tell me what is going on?"

Giles' expression softened. "Xander, I apologize. You are completely right."

"Yes, absolutely," Penelope added.

Giles leaned forward in his seat, his gaze intense. "Now, I promise, we'll - or more accurately Miss Clearwater - will explain everything that's going on. But, I think the best thing to do first is to actually test my theory, as I discussed with you over the phone. This way everyone knows where we stand."

Xander shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, fine, if you think that's the best way to go, I'm game. What do I have to do, answer a couple of questions or something? It's not an essay is it?"

"Actually, it's much easier than that." She got up and grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter. She dug to the bottom of the bag, eventually pulling out a long wooden stick.

That certainly wasn't what he expected.

"You want me to try and kill something with the world's skinniest stake?" Xander asked Giles in confusion.

"Nothing quite so dramatic," Penelope said as she sat back down. "This test is as easy as pie, as the Muggles say."

"There's that word again. What exactly is a Muggle?" Xander asked.

"A Muggle is a non magical person," Penelope said.

Xander blinked. "Non magical?" He turned to Giles. "I thought you said that anybody can do magic, some are just better at it than others."

"Yes, that is true. I did say that." Giles hesitated for a moment. "But it seems that I only gave you part of the story."

"What do you mean only part?"

"To be fair, I had only heard whispers and gossip. You see, they keep their world hidden from others who don't possess their type of magic. I had never run into any practitioner, nor have I ever seen any texts until recently. Basically, it is out of our realm of influence, so I don't include it when we need to research."

Penelope chimed in. "Mr. Harris, the magic that you are familiar with is different than the magic I use."

"How?"

She settled into her seat, seeming to relax for the first time. Her voice continued with polish and practice.

"My magic is a part of me. However, the magic you have dealt with, sometimes referred to as Wiccan, Earth, or Elemental, is based on harnessing the energy of the planet itself or making some sort of plea to a god or higher deity."

"So there's no smelly incense or chanting in Aramaic? Where's the fun in that?"

"No, nothing quite like that. We have our own rituals and instruments."

"For example?" Xander asked.

In response she nodded towards the wood in her hand.

Xander's eyes widened. "Wait, are you trying to tell me this stick is…" he trailed off, waving vaguely at said stick.

"Yes, it's a magical wand," she said.

"No."

"Yes."

"A magic wand," he deadpanned.

"Yes, it is a magic wand," she said slowly.

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah right."

"I'm sorry?"

"A magic wand? Can't we do better than that. I mean, that's just, I don't know," he searched for the right word, "tacky."

He turned in irritation, "Nice one, Giles. For a second there, you almost had me. Seriously, why did you bring me here, and who is she really?"

"Xander," Giles began. He sounded equally as confused as Penelope. "She's telling you the truth; that is a magic wand."

"Nope, don't buy it. It's too obvious."

"What can you possibly mean by that?" Giles asked.

"Okay, for example, I can take a gypsified vampire because it's just 'too' weird to not be true. You know what I mean?"

Giles pressed on. "So you think a magic wand is -?"

"It's completely overdone. I mean every lame brained pseudo-author who can't think of a clever way to handle plot throws in a 'magic wand'," Xander made air quotes, "to solve their problems. Plus, it's a total cliché. I mean, what's next, flying carpets and broomsticks?"

Penelope opened her mouth to answer, but Giles subtly shook his head.

"Yes, well, maybe it's prudent if Miss Clearwater demonstrate her ability."

"Yes, that would seem to be for the best," she added.

"Okay." Xander shrugged his shoulders once more. "If you want to keep pretending that -"

Shock rolled through Xander's body, the words dying in his throat. Without warning, Penelope's wrist had flicked in the direction of her teacup, causing it to shake. Xander watched with silver dollar sized eyes as the shaking increased in intensity.

Suddenly, the tea cup sprouted two spindly legs.

Xander gazed in wonder as the teacup did a little jig across the coffee table. In fact, the teacup was so into its steps and rhythm that Giles had to quickly lift his own drink off the table before the dancing cup smashed into it.

There had been many strange sights in his life, but this one was quickly climbing the ranks. He looked over to find that Penelope's face was a mask of concentration as she used her wand like a conductor's baton, keeping her company in time.

With a gentle swish, she made the cup do a little bow, tea dribbling over its side.

"Oops," she said. With one last flourish of her wand, she turned the dancing cup into a linen napkin.

Of course she did.

She reached across the table to wipe up the mess, when Xander held up his hand. Penelope stopped, waiting for him to make a move.

Xander had what he considered one of the more impressive collections of science fiction and fantasy literature in all of Sunnydale. Plus he had seen every episode of Babylon 5, Quantum Leap, Dungeons and Dragons, Manimal, Battlestar Galactica, Star Trek and The Next Generation, Space 1999, Misfits of Science, and about thirty-five other classic television programs.

So, when his fingers grabbed the edge of the napkin and lifted it up, he wasn't surprised to find just tea underneath. That's because all his knowledge, all his years of studying comics, movies, and television had lead him to one unshakable, unfathomable conclusion.

It was a frickin' magic wand.

"I trust that was a suitable demonstration," Penelope asked.

Xander didn't answer immediately. "Xander, are you alright?" Giles asked.

He eased his body slowly back onto the couch. "Oh yeah, sure. Dancing dinnerware was what I was totally expecting today. Either that or the ghost of J.F.K." He looked towards Penelope. "So is that the test? Seeing that done and _not_ trying to burn you at the stake?"

"No." Her demeanor was all business. Apparently the threat of being burned alive had no effect on her. "Actually, the test is for you to take my wand and say the words, "_Veneficus Videor"._"

"Why?"

"Xander," Giles spoke softly. "It will tell us if you are magical."

"Me, magical? Are you kidding?" Xander asked in surprise.

"I assure you that we have good reason to believe so, but we can't be certain until you take the test."

He stared at the older man like he had grown two heads. "You're serious?"

It was Penelope who answered. "Absolutely. I wouldn't have come all this way if I didn't believe it to be true."

This whole thing sounded too freaky and absurd. Giles must have picked up on his doubt by his body language.

"I know we're asking you to take a leap of faith. But please, trust me."

Giles' face was one of pure sincerity, and seeing that eased some of the concern in his mind. "Okay, let me give it a shot."

Penelope smiled brilliantly. "Fantastic. Like I said Mr. Harris, simply say the words "_Veneficus Videor"_, and if the wand lights up, like so." When she repeated the phrase, the whole wand pulsed in a sickly green color. "Then we'll have our answer," she finished, holding the wand out for him.

There was no part of Xander that actually believed he had magic in him, so the sooner he proved it to them, the better. When he reached out and took the wand from her hand, he was surprised to find that the wood seemed warm to the touch. The wand itself was about twelve inches long, the dark cherry color polished to a glossy shine. On closer inspection he noticed detailed carvings in the handle.

He held it eye level, twisting it around and examining it from all angles. He didn't know much about wood working, but he could tell the craftsmanship was outstanding.

"Ooooh, magic lite bright. Can't wait," he said with a grin on his face.

Xander sat up straight, holding the wand in front of him like a sword. He might as well milk it for all it's worth.

"_Veneficus videor_!" he said with a deep, bombastic voice.

For the first seconds, nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. This whole thing was ridiculous. He should have told them that two minutes ago and saved them all the trouble.

Stupid magic witch with her stupid magic wand and her stupid attempts at promotion. From now on she should just kiss ass and gossip like every other person. And how could Giles be so off the mark? Besides willingly wearing tweed, he was usually pretty spot on.

Twin gasps stopped him short. He looked up to find Penelope and Giles with mirror expressions on their faces; shock. Before he could ask what the problem was, he saw it. His blood froze and his mouth turned to cotton.

The wand, which shouldn't have worked since he didn't have any magic in his body, was faintly emitting a terrifying green light.

He shot up from the couch, dropping the wand like it was on fire. "What the hell was that?" he yelled.

Giles stood up slowly. "Please calm down, Xander. I promise you everything is alright," he said in a calm, soothing voice.

Xander's bitter laugh filled the room as he paced across the floor. "Oh yeah, sure, no problem. It's all going to be A-okay, he says. It's not like I just found out everything about my life is a lie," he muttered.

A small frown marred Penelope's face. "But I don't understand. Why are you surprised? You knew what we were testing for."

"I didn't think it was real! Were you not just here when I went on my wand rant? What part of that wasn't clear?"

Penelope clearly didn't think any part of his reaction was clear. "I apologize, but I thought, with what you are involved in, this would be considered wonderful news."

His angry eyes met hers; "So apparently they teach you how to make all the silverware you can handle in 'Magic Land', but they avoid that whole, 'don't be an insensitive creep' training us lowly public school kids receive."

"Xander," Giles snapped. The forceful tone brought a halt to Xander's pacing, but he kept his back to the other occupants. "I know this must be difficult for you. No matter what we suspected, it's obviously a great surprise to everyone. However, that does not give you the right to be cruel or demeaning to Miss Clearwater. She has taken a very arduous, very long trip to come here and assist us. It would be nice if you would show her the proper respect she deserves."

He continued, losing his biting edge. "Now then, there are very important decisions and discussions that need to take place. Normally the best course of action would be to wait until you were comfortable with the situation." The word 'comfortable' brought a snort of disbelief from Xander. "Unfortunately we're working on a bit of an accelerated timetable and Miss Clearwater needs to return to England as soon as possible."

Giles sat back in his chair. "Now, will you please join us once again so can begin?"

Xander stood stock still. It wasn't that he was trying to be stubborn; well, not much at least. It was that he honestly didn't think his body could move. Shock, fear, anger, and about a million other emotions flooded every fiber of his being.

He wasn't human. That thought pounded like a sledge hammer. He didn't know what he was now, but normal people don't just make teacups do a soft shoe routine and turn into something else entirely. Now he finds out he's part of what ever group Penelope belongs to. What did he call himself now: magician, warlock, freak?

It felt like a lifetime ago that he was afraid he was getting pushed out of the group. Now it seems that he may be more involved than he ever imagined. That thought made him sick to his stomach.

He eased back onto the couch. "Now what?" he croaked.

Giles and Penelope exchanged glances. "I think it's prudent to start at the beginning," Giles began, "and that means telling you why I first suspected you may be magical."

"Now," Giles said, picking up his cup of tea, "let me ask you a question. What do you remember from the night in the Master's lair?"

Giles realized how ridiculous the question was from the look on Xander's face. He immediately backpedaled and sputtered, "I'm sorry, that was stupid of me. I apologize for being insensitive."

Penelope chimed in. "Actually, if it's amenable to the both of you, I would like to go over a basic timeline of the evening. If we could start from when Mr. Harris and the vampire first made their way into the underground structure you refer to as 'The Master's Lair' then I can hopefully get a better idea of what transpired."

When she finished speaking she pointed her wand at the wet napkin, flicked her wrist, and turned it back into a teacup. Her voice was much more clinical and professional than before. She also avoided making eye contact with Xander.

"I assumed that you already knew the events of the evening," Giles said, a puzzled look on his face.

"I did read the report, but one never knows what information they can glean from hearing the particulars straight from the source."

"I don't think it's important to -"

Xander cut him off. "It's fine Giles. Let's just get this over with."

"Are you sure, Xander?" Giles asked.

A part of him was touched that Giles seemed to actually care about his feelings. Unfortunately that part was getting eaten by the massive part of him that just wanted this conversation to end.

"Yeah, I'm cool." He turned and faced Penelope. "There's not much to tell. Me and Angel went down into the sewers, which is about as fun as it sounds. Then we went searching for the actual lair part, which, don't even get me started on a vampire having an underground cave that he calls a 'lair'."

"What did you discuss with the vampire?"

"Umm, didn't really discuss anything. It was our usual communication: I mocked, he bantered, I told him not to bite me -"

"Wait," Penelope said, her eyes large, "he was going to bite your neck?"

"Just in the metaphorical sense." Xander pressed on, "Anyway, we finally got to the lair, where we ah, saw Buffy face down in the puddle of water." Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a fleeting expression on Giles' face.

"And you administered, umm," she paused as reached across the table, grabbing a notebook. She held up a finger as she rifled through it. "Yes, here it is, CPR?"

"Yeah," Xander confirmed. "He said he didn't have the breath to do it, so I had to, and I did. It worked; Buffy got up, stronger than ever, and kicked the Master straight into the world's biggest stake."

Penelope didn't follow up initially. She was too busy looking at her notepad to make sure that the feather pen, that was floating in mid air along with the notepad mind you, was taking down everything.

Ten minutes ago, this would have seemed really strange.

Giles, who from all appearances was fighting down the urge to ask her about what she was doing continued the conversation, "Did you notice anything when you performed CPR?" he asked.

Xander's eyebrows flew into his hairline. "You mean besides the fact that I was actually doing CPR? No."

"Are you sure, Mr. Harris?" Penelope asked, leaning forward. The floating pen paused, but seemed as anxious as her owner for an answer.

"I'm sure." The frustration was starting to boil over. "Can we please stop with the mystery novel routine and get to the part where you tell me everything you know?"

"We believe something happened when you brought Miss Summers back to life," Penelope said as bluntly as humanly possible.

"Xander," Giles said. His eyes were hard, the anger barely restrained towards Penelope. "What Miss Clearwater is trying to say is that we believe your resuscitating Buffy, and thus returning the Slayer essence to her body, also had an effect on you."

He could feel the blood draining from his face. "How?"

"Buffy told me that she felt stronger, yet different once she was revived. I obviously didn't mention anything at the time, but her wording concerned me."

He watched Giles visibly shifting into lecture mode. Normally he'd make a joke about it, but in this case, he stayed silent.

"I researched. As much as I could, at least." He grew more animated with each word, "You see Xander, you did something that has never been done before in the recorded history of the Watcher's Council; you revived, what was for all intents and purposes, a dead Slayer. Like I said, there was little to no information about the phenomenon; just a theory really."

Giles took a quick sip of his now cold tea. "But I simply could not understand or reconcile how Buffy could be more powerful than before. Maybe as powerful, most likely weaker; definitely not stronger. I even thought she might have been imagining it, as a sort of coping mechanism for what she needed to do. However, physical testing after that night showed that she _was_ stronger."

Xander remembered that testing. They were still finding splinters from the demolished practice dummy.

"I also discreetly consulted with a few colleagues and contacts. No one could come up with plausible solutions. I was ready to write the whole thing off; Buffy seemed fine, there were no complications I could see, and I figured why look a gift horse in the mouth."

"What changed?" Xander asked.

"A little over a month ago, I was getting ready for bed when the thought struck me like a bolt of lightning; what if the change had nothing to do with Buffy, but with you?"

Nice to know Giles thought of him right before bed. And the hits keep coming. "I don't get it though, nothings changed with me. I'm still the same fun loving sidekick I've always been."

"I'll admit that's what I thought at first, too. In fact, I had forgotten my theory until a few weeks ago." Giles' expression became much more serious. "Xander, do you remember three weeks ago when we encountered the Ty'char demon?"

Xander's hands ran through his hair, clutching it in clumps. He remembered that night. He, Giles, and Willow had gone out patrolling. No one had really been on the streets at night since Buffy had gone to her dad's place, so they decided to at least try and do some sort of slaying. Giles had been against it, saying they weren't skilled enough, but he and Willow had overruled him. The only way he would agree to do it was if they all went together, and they carried as much holy water, crosses, and medieval weaponry as they possibly could.

They were passing through the third graveyard of the evening. They hadn't run into vamps so far. He remembered talking with Willow, making some sort of lame observation that had her laughing, when her eyes went huge. Before he could ask her what was wrong, he'd felt a crushing pain in his chest, then nothing.

"Yeah, that was the blue Greedo looking thing you sliced and diced with the broadsword, thanks to me being a distraction by getting knocked into that tree."

"It was a little more than that," Giles said in exasperation.

"You killed a Ty'char by yourself?" Penelope asked, her face a mixture of shock and appreciation.

Giles waved her off. "That's not important right now."

"Xander," the exasperation in his voice was still there in full force, "knocking you into a tree is a simple way of putting it. The Ty'char struck you in the stomach, launching you twenty-five feet into a fully mature oak. It was dumb luck that I had my sword in hand as he did it."

He continued. "Once I made sure the demon was taken care of I sprinted to you. I thought for sure you were dead."

Xander flinched. He never knew it was that bad.

"Luckily I didn't have to dwell on that fact long, because as soon as I arrived at your body I could hear you moaning. I was about to pull Willow off of you. She was almost inconsolable, and I was worried that she would aggravate any injuries you had. Instead, you opened your eyes, said you were fine, and just – stood up."

The last words were said with a sort of detached amazement.

"Why would avoiding some bumps and bruises make me magical?"

Giles ripped his glasses off. "You left a human sized indentation in the tree."

"Oh."

"Yes, now you see what I mean? There was no physical way you should have been able to get up, let alone be completely fine."

"So why didn't you say anything to me? Why the cloak and dagger stuff?" Xander asked.

As he started to answer, Giles took his teacup and headed back into the kitchen. He yelled through the open space as he prepared a fresh pot. "Well, as I said before I didn't want to worry you needlessly. I knew there was something, but I didn't know what. So, I did what I always do in this situation: research."

He made his way back into the living room, offering to freshen up Penelope's cup. "Luckily, this time the solution came much more quickly," he said as he poured Penelope's drink, and then returned to his seat.

"During my foray into trying to identify Buffy's increased strength, I ran into a diary of a Watcher from the eighteenth century, Darius Gentry, whose wife's family was magical. The diary itself was fairly innocuous; the man did absolutely no field work, and devoted his life to finding a link between vampire mating and pollen count."

"That seems rather, unnecessary," Penelope said.

Giles shook his head in agreement. "Quite. But through all the brutally mundane information, there were a few mentions of the magical world. Specifically, he mentioned his sister-in-law's young son, who fell out of a tree he was climbing. He writes his amazement at the fact that the young boy dropped over one hundred feet, bounced off the ground -"

"Jesus that's horrible," Xander cut in.

Giles gave him a slight smile. "And he also got right up, and walked away without a scratch."

"Just like me," he muttered. "How?"

Penelope was the one to answer. "Magical children have an innate ability to use their magic when the opportunity calls for it. Think of it as a reflex. In both cases your magic protected you when you were in danger."

Xander's head felt stuffed with extra strength cotton. He was hearing the words, but they weren't forming anything that could be considered a thought.

"I know that sometimes it may seem like I'm a kid and not a fully functioning semi-adult, but I'm not. A kid, that is."

"It has more to do with being untrained in magic than age," Penelope said, her matter of fact tone beginning to unnerve him.

"So, upon reading about the case, and seeing the obvious similarities to what was happening with you, I decided to contact the British Ministry of Magic. Though the magical world prefers to remain hidden from everyday life, the Watchers Council does have the means of getting in touch when necessary."

"And that's when Mr. Giles was put in touch with my department, or more specifically, me." Penelope finished. "Now, do you have any questions?"

The first laugh bubbled up uncontrollably. He tried to rein it in; he really did. But it was a losing battle. He laughed so hard and so loud that his sides felt like he'd run five miles. That question was up there with, 'Gee Mrs. Lincoln, except for the shooting, how was the play?'. Even Giles was having trouble maintaining a straight face.

He swiped his eyes, and when he got settled down enough to speak, he said, "Maybe just one or two."

Sadly, this set him off once more. Giles was now laughing right beside him, but to a lesser, more dignified degree, of course. Penelope seemed to have learned quickly about the people she was keeping company with, because she just sat there primly and properly, not saying a word.

"Woooooh!" Xander blew out. "I'm sorry about that. It's been kind of a weird day." He took a few deep, cleansing breaths. "Okay, okay, I'll get serious. First question: why now?"

"You mean why didn't your magic manifest itself earlier?" Penelope asked.

"Uh-huh."

"That's actually why your case is so remarkable." She was getting excited again, eager to impart whatever bit of wisdom or knowledge she thought was absolutely riveting.

Despite her obvious aspirations, Xander knew she would never make it as a politician; she had absolutely no ability to read people or situations. If she did, she might not be gushing in front of the guy who just had his world rocked.

"You see, you are the first person to live their entire life on the Hellmouth and show any sort of magical ability."

"From what I've been told, Xander," Giles said, "the Hellmouth has a very negative effect on Miss Clearwater's magic."

"That is correct. It first manifests as a peculiar sensation; like something crawling up my spine. Then it begins to affect my control. For example, if I had been here for more than a few days, that spell I just performed on the teacup would have necessitated a verbal incantation. Eventually, if I were to stay here for any serious length of time, it would begin to destabilize my magical abilities altogether"

Xander looked at her in horror, "Wait, so that's going to happen to me, too! I just got this thing!"

"It's possible, but unlikely," Giles said, his voice reassuring. "The fact that you _have_ lived on the Hellmouth your whole life should make you immune."

He continued, "You see, we think that since you were so close to Buffy at the time of the Slayer essence returning to her body, that essence was powerful enough to, well, 'put a crack in the wall' that the Hellmouth put around your magic, so to speak. At the same time, her essence was supercharged by interacting with the magic in your body, which is why Buffy feels so much stronger."

Penelope picked up once again. "As I was saying earlier, you are the first recorded individual possessing magical ability who has lived their entire lives on the Hellmouth. To be fair, the Wizarding world doesn't have many records or information on the Hellmouth. Since it's so negative for us, we tend to avoid it. Even though your magical ability is on the very low end of the scale, your case is still remarkable. You can teach us things about the very essence of magic that until now has been impossible to study."

Xander didn't like the gleam in her eye. "I don't plan on being a lab rat for you, if that's what you're getting at."

"There may be some testing, but nothing more strenuous than a simple doctor's check-up," Giles said while Penelope shifted in her seat. It appeared as if she would have liked to answer that question a little differently.

Giles expression brightened, "You know Xander, I think that once you've had some time to digest the information and what it means, that you'll realize that this could be a very good thing for you."

Though his overall feeling was still utter fear, he was starting to think Giles had a point. He could see some serious possibilities with this. He could be magic guy for the group, with the flick of his wrist turning vampires into soft bunnies ready for the slaughter. Well, maybe not bunnies; that would just be depressing.

"-so when you're finished with your year at Hogwarts, you should have a very rudimentary knowledge base."

What a time to tune back in.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"I said that after studying for a year at Hogwarts, with a little hard work and determination on your part, you should have a basic level of magical knowledge that will help you to assist the Slayer," Penelope answered.

"Okay, yeah, just wanted to make sure I heard you right," Xander said with a strangled voice.

"Yes Xander, you would attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a full year to obtain your training." Giles tone was way too matter of fact for him.

"Umm, no?"

Penelope looked at him strangely. "I'm sorry?"

He started fidgeting in his seat. "I don't want to go to another school."

"Why in the world would you not want to go and learn magic?" Penelope asked, completely flummoxed.

"Because I just found out about it literally ten minutes ago, and now you want me to drop my entire life to go run off and play real life 'Dungeons and Dragons'. Maybe if somebody could come here and tutor me I'd do it. Heck, they could just tutor Willow and then she could teach me. It would take less time that way."

Penelope looked towards Giles. "I'm sorry, but it doesn't work like that."

"Then I don't want to do it."

"No one's going to make you do anything Xander," Giles said, though his tone indicated otherwise. "But this is a wonderful opportunity for you and your future and I think it would be a mistake to dismiss it so quickly just because the school is in Scotland."

Scotland?

He could imagine what he looked like to Giles and Penelope with his mouth hanging open in shock like it was.

"Are you high?" he blurted out to Giles. "Why would you make me go all the way to Scotland? Aren't there schools that aren't on the other side of the globe?"

"Unfortunately the magical community in the United States won't permit you to attend any school here. They say you're too old to start learning now, and your association with the Hellmouth is, in their words, unsavory," Penelope answered.

"Xander, no one is saying this wouldn't be a difficult adjustment, but I believe you're letting your fear of change make this decision for you."

"Of course I am!" Xander said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I can barely survive high school right now, and I've known those kids for ten years! There will be all new Cordelia Chase's to deal with, and frankly, I've already used all my best witty remarks on her. I refuse to recycle my material."

Giles ripped his glasses off his face. "Will you be serious for a minute and think about this? Really think about it instead of jumping to a rash decision. From what I understand Hogwarts is one of the top Wizarding academies in the world. This is not just the kind of opportunity you set aside because you're afraid of fitting in."

Xander met his slightly biting tone with one of his own. "Well Giles, I _seriously_ don't want to go, and all the razzle dazzle in the world won't make me."

Giles ran his hands through his hair, his agitation and exhaustion simmering just below the surface. "Dammit Xander, don't you see? This is a chance to make something of yourself; a chance to finally contribute something meaningful to the group."

The words felt like a stinging puncture right through is ribcage. He shot up from the couch. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Giles only now seemed to realize what he had said. "Xander, I am so sorry, that's not what -"

"I'm out of here," he muttered, throwing open Giles' door and sprinting into the afternoon sunlight.

"Wait, please, I know we've gone about this poorly, but if you would just - " Those were the last words he heard before he exited the courtyard.

He had been prepared for bad news since Giles had called that morning; but this was worse. Giles wanting him to leave, knowing him so little to think that he would just drop everything to go learn a few magic tricks was upsetting. But his final words were worse. Even though he had heard it from his father more times than he could count, hearing Giles say he was worthless hurt him more than he wanted to admit.

All he knew then was that he needed to get far away from Giles' place as fast as possible.

He reached Acri Road in record time. In his haze of confusion, he looked up and saw that same woman tending to her garden. Without thinking he waved to her once more.

This time, she didn't wave back.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Special Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

Should the night be clear when you've just had your world spun around like a Johnny Cash CD? Didn't he at least deserve nasty weather to match his mood?

Shouldn't it be all, "It was a dark and stormy night?"

Then again, Xander had a vague recollection of that sentence being voted as the worst opening ever for a book, and what this day didn't need was a hackneyed inner monologue.

Sitting on the curb of a random Sunnydale street, his eyes never left the sky while he chucked rocks at the stop sign across the road. The stars being out all nice and bright felt like fate giving him the old middle finger, and right now he was all about plumbing his murky depths.

Tension and frustration coursed through his body as he kept up his machinegun-like throwing motion. He had walked around town for hours since he left Giles' place, going everywhere and nowhere. Now that the initial shock of the information overload had faded, he'd done his best to put everything in perspective.

Truth be told, finding out about the magical bit wasn't as bad as he first thought. So now he was a little different, and could literally pull things from a hat? Big deal. Since becoming the Slayer, Buffy had been in the same boat, and he would never think of her as freakish. Far from it. Not only would she kick his ass if she ever caught wind of him entertaining that idea, when you looked like she did, and smelled like she did, and smiled like -

Xander shook his head. Now wasn't the time, even if this particular train of thought was leading into pleasant places he'd rather be.

Definitely more pleasant than thinking about Giles' parting words, which coincidentally were still burrowing holes right into his brain. Having some of his biggest fears confirmed by the one positive adult in his life made him feel about two inches tall.

It was really crappy icing on top of an odd cake.

A reverberating gong noise let him know he had finally bullseyed the stop sign. Take that little league coach who said he threw like a girl.

"Is this seat taken or -"

"GAAAHHHHH!"

"AEEEEEEEE!"

Xander jumped up, his heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage. Willow stood a few feet away, hand over her chest, face white and ashen.

"Why would you scream like that!" she yelled.

"You scared the crap out of me, coming out of nowhere all ninja like!"

She marched right up to him and popped him a good one on the shoulder.

"Oww." He rubbed the spot where she hit him. "What was that for?"

"For being a jerk!"

He glared at the madwoman in front of him. "Gee, sorry for acting all surprised, when I'm, you know, surprised!"

They stared at each other for a few seconds, slowly collecting their breath. Eventually Xander flopped back onto the curb, followed by Willow primly sitting and laying her backpack next to her. Without saying anything, he picked up the rocks again, continuing his assault on the red octagon.

"Sorry for scaring you," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Me too. Oh, and sorry for punching you. I have this phobia about being scared."

He cracked a grin. "Says the girl whose sole after school activity is monster hunting. And here I thought you were the smart one."

Willow smiled as she rolled her eyes. "I could say the same for you mister. I mean really, who hangs out in front of a cemetery on their off night?"

Xander turned around and looked back towards Restfield Cemetery in surprise. "Jeez, I didn't even notice. Wait, do you think I'm developing a fetish or something? Please say no."

Willow smoothed her yellow skirt while stretching out her yellow stocking covered legs. Xander mentally cringed at the red Chuck Taylor high tops that completed the ensemble. If Cordelia were here, it would be an absolute bloodbath.

"I think you are a person that can appreciate the peace and tranquility offered in the presence of the dead."

He fixed her with an odd look.

Willow giggled. "Nope, sorry, you're a weirdo."

"And the last twelve years of friendship didn't tip you off?" he asked easily. Talking with her was much better than being stuck in his head. A lot less scary, too.

Willow leaned back on her hands. "Oh no, Xand, I've always known. I just didn't want to make you feel bad."

"Well, I don't want to make you feel bad either, but guess what: twelve years of constant Xander exposure has left you infected with high levels of weird, with a smidge of odd and crazy on the side."

"Nope. You're wrong," she said with the utmost confidence.

"I am completely right. You, my friend, are in weirdo denial."

"Then I am forced to call shenanigans, and demand you provide an example," Willow asked.

"Okay, hmmm." He made a big show of rubbing his chin with his hand. "Oh, I know; how about you being the one to set off a coffee can full of bottle rockets in your bedroom closet, you household pyro you," he said loftily.

"I was six!" She looked utterly scandalized. "And, we had just watched the space shuttle launch and I was super excited. Besides, who was it that was right next to me when my parents came running into the room?"

A large smile lit up his face. "Hey, we've already established my standing. But do you remember what I told your parents when they asked what I was doing there? I said you couldn't launch a space shuttle without a propulsion expert, or as I went by at the time, 'Flame Guy', so I rendered my services."

"Oh wow," she said, her eyes growing. A note of wonder tinged her voice. "I totally forgot about 'Flame Guy'. I thought you were so brave to actually use a lighter."

He laid back on the cement of the sidewalk. "Most parents teach their kids, 'fire bad.' Mine were more fans of, 'Hey, boy, come here and light my cigarette. I'm too busy double fisting my Coors Lite.'"

Willow lay down along side, resting her head next to his. "It wasn't all bad. From those years of dubious parenting arose the cuddly wild man known as 'Flame Guy.' OH," she yelped, causing Xander to flinch, "do you remember 'Waterman"

"You mean my alter ego who had the distinct ability to chug a gallon of water in a single gulp? Who could forget him? I impressed many a female in the caf with that one." His tone grew wistful. "Man, let it never be said that a six year old can't come up with spot on nicknames."

"You remember how mad my parents were when you did your 'Waterman' routine in the living room?"

"Yikes," he said, grimacing. "Ira and Sheila were not pleased. But I stand by my point: why have a living room if you don't actually live in it?"

"You know the sad thing? I think that was actually the last time anyone was in that room."

"See, six year old logic is flawless in the face of insanity."

"Not complete insanity. You did manage to spill almost the whole gallon on the leather couch we got from my Nanna. They were right to be nervous. You were a spaz."

Xander laced his fingers behind his head. "Hey, when you work without a net, stuff happens."

They grew silent once more. "Wait, was that the same Nanna whose funeral I went to?" Xander asked.

"Uh-huh," Willow said. "I didn't know her very well; she lived in Secaucas and only visited a couple times a year. I remember it was the first time I saw my dad cry, which is bogey man level scary for a little girl." She paused for a moment. "I was so glad you were there, you cheered me up without even knowing it."

"I did? How?" Xander asked in surprise.

"Let's just say I don't think the rabbi ever had somebody tell him he 'wasn't doing it right' because he didn't talk about the baby Jesus. Or have somebody ask him when they served the bread and juice."

"Hey, in my defense, everything I ever learned about religion, I learned from 'A Charlie Brown Christmas'."

"Well then, I'll just have to write a strongly worded letter to Charles Schultz on his lack of Jewish empathy and Hanukkah depictions in his cartoons. He's ruining all gentiles before they ever step foot in a synagogue."

The life long friends lay there in a contented silence. After a few seconds, Willow turned toward Xander, studying him without speaking. Her eyes raked up and down his form, crinkling slightly. Her expression mirrored the one she wore when confronted with a particular brutal calculus problem.

That niggling sensation of being watched pulsed the back of his head. Xander looked at Willow, and found her eyes intense.

"What?" he asked.

Her lips pursed, and the rest of her face followed.

"Is this helping?"

He opened his mouth to ask what she was talking about, but then shut it when the answer filtered into his brain: apparently she had spoken with Giles.

"Oh yeah, absolutely, totally." The best he could offer was a limp smile.

Her eyebrow quirked up. "Really?"

Her question was so hopeful, so earnest and Willow-ish, he wished that he had been born with better acting skills. As it was, the look on her face let him know he would never need to dust off a spot on his mantle for the Oscar.

"Well, at least a little bit," he said, his grin more natural. "It's fine, Wills."

"How can you be fine with this?" she whimpered.

"Well, fine isn't really the right word. I guess managing would be better. I'll admit, I was 'freaked out guy' when Giles first told me, but I don't know, it could be worse."

"How could it be worse?" she wailed while her eyes misted over.

Now she was starting to make him nervous. "Did you suddenly come down with a disease where you repeat everything I just said but in sad, question form?" he asked in confusion.

"I'm sorry," she started, scrubbing her wet eyes. "I know I'm being emotional. I'm trying to be all best friend-y, but it's so hard. You're just so matter of fact about everything and I can barely keep it together."

He patted her leg in a friendly manner. "Well I've had a little more time to digest. I'm still coming to grips with everything, but it's not the worst news I've ever gotten. I mean, have you met my parents?"

She looked at him with pity and concern. "Wow, I thought you would be completely freaking out. I was all ready to be support-o gal and keep telling you everything would be fine. Here," she began rooting through the pocket on her skirt. She pulled out a piece of notebook paper. "I even wrote a speech, you know, to put my thoughts in order."

"Which I'm sure is grammatically and stylistically correct. That's my Wills, always prepared. You're like the best Boy Scout ever, minus that pesky 'Y' chromosome," he said.

She took a shuddering, albeit relieved breath. "I'm so glad you're doing okay with this."

Without preamble, she sat up and morphed right before his eyes into school time Willow. It mainly involved sitting with good posture and down shifting from 'fun' to 'bookworm'.

She rooted though her backpack, which made it tough to hear what she was saying.

"Now, I know it's early, but I started doing some research on this. Don't worry, science is doing some really amazing things for male fertility."

He found himself slowly nodding his head in agreement - which he usually did to pacify Willow when she was in this state - to sitting straight up in about .0032 seconds.

"Whhhhaaaatttt?"

His harsh, not at all manly reply made her stop what she was doing and turn toward him. Her face asked the question she failed to vocalize.

"Why are you looking up male fertility?"

She gave him a soft, patient smile. "Xander, it's okay. Giles told me everything."

"Oh god please tell me that sentence ends with, 'about the Dewey Decimal System.'" He could literally feel his skin crawling right off his body.

"What are you talking about?" Willow asked.

"I know I'm gonna hate myself for asking, but why is Giles talking to you about my, well...?" he asked, making hand gestures and stumbling over the final word.

Luckily she easily picked up his sign language. "We didn't talk about your, err, gonads."

"Not a time to quote the biology book, Willow."

Her skin tone matched her hair color. "I'm sorry, but I don't see how not being able to have children is something to joke about."

While that little bombshell hung in the air, he ran his hands through his hair and stared at the ground. Normally this is the part he would have been ranting and raving at hearing 'Giles,' 'children,' and 'sperm' in the same sentence. He thought it was a real testament to his growth as a person that he didn't.

"Willow," he said calmly, still looking at the ground. "Why do you think I can't ever have kids?"

"Giles told me that, in his words, 'something magical happened to you in the master's lair that would affect your future livelihood.'"

He couldn't help it, he started giggling. "And you thought that was Giles-speak for me not being able to have kids?"

"Hey, don't laugh at me. I'm being understanding," she said, slightly put out.

He kept laughing as he looked at her pouting face. Leave it to a best friend to make things look a little better, even if they don't know what the hell they're talking about.

"Oh god Wills, sometimes your brain operates on a different level from us normal folks. But please; don't ever change."

"Wait, so you can still have kids?" The hope in her voice was like a little kid at Christmas morning opening up a remote controlled monster truck that shoots lasers out of it's headlights.

Or at least so he had been told.

"Well, I heard that first you need an actual human female willing to be touched by yours truly, but otherwise I'm good to go.

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him with every little bit of her strength.

"Oh thank goodness," she squeezed out. "Ever since Giles told me, my stomach's been in knots."

He patted her arm. "And that whole time you were looking for me, you never thought that maybe you were making a very strange leap in your logic?"

She pulled away from the hug, and her cheeks started to color. "Well, at first I thought I was, but then it was, 'Oh no! There won't be any little Xander's running around with their cute smiles and adorable lack of coordination'. So, yeah, the panic? Kinda pushed rational Willow right out the car door into oncoming traffic."

Her arm waving grew more frantic. "Then I started thinking of websites and books I could check out on increasing sperm count. But I'd have to be sneaky about it, because, you know, what would I say if someone caught me with it? 'I'm just checking it out for a friend?' Pffft. Like anyone would buy that. By lunch, I'd be 'Willow, the only girl who got knocked up in high school by a science project.'"

She continued. "But then I realized how selfish I was being. Who cares if people think I'm just a sad, cautionary tale of premarital sex; I have to be there for you! So I hung up the phone on Giles, and ran out to find you as fast as I could."

His laughter filled the sky. "You need to write a novel. Wait, I take that back. With your imagination, you should start with, 'Dear Penthouse..."

"Stop it!" Her face was absolutely lava colored. Then her expression grew quizzical. "Wait, so if you can still have kids, why did Giles call me? And why did he say I needed to find you? And why are we having a heart to heart on a curb?"

"Oh that," Xander said matter-of-factly. "It's because I resurrected Buffy in the Master's lair and now I'm a wand-y wizard."

Willow stared at him blankly. "What now?"

"I thought I might get that reaction." Xander stood up, and offered his hand to Willow. "Come on, we'll walk and talk and I'll tell you all the sordid details about today; some other highlights include an oddly satisfying dream sequence, and a possible 'hot for teacher' scenario, but don't quote me on that."

Willow continued to stare blankly. "What now?"

With a smile on his face, Xander grabbed her by the shoulders and stood her up. On her own power she walked along side him.

He slung his arm around her shoulder, "So the day starts out with my dream girlfriend Buffy being really upset at me..."

The only word out of Willow's mouth a half hour later was, "Mmmm."

They'd been walking around town, and ended up strolling down some anonymous boulevard on the outskirts of Sunnydale. He'd been regaling her with the sordid details of today's happenings, making sure to act out all the important parts with gusto. The only part he skimped on was the final moments at Giles'. He found himself in a better mood, and wasn't eager to change that by rehashing his 'door slam/storm out', even if a small part of him was eager to get an ally in a Giles bitchfest.

It's funny how much two best friends can become in sync. Like clockwork, Willow got excited at the parts he knew would excite her, and upset at the upsetting parts. He knew her so well, he didn't take offense at the fact that her final response to everything was a boring, "mmmm".

Only a best friend would notice her body virtually humming with questions.

Xander flashed Willow a look of mock exasperation. "What's a guy got to do to get a reaction around here? Because saying that I'm now magical and can thus use a magic wand completely un-ironically is not doing the trick."

When she spoke, it was a clipped, deliberate, measured tone. "I know how upset you were when you found all this out from Giles. I don't want to say something that will upset you more."

He smiled gratefully. "It's okay, Willow. I had some time to clear my head, and -"

"This is unbelievable! How cool is it that you can do magic? With a wand! This is so going to change everything! Oh, but in a really good way. You're still Xander. Of course you're Xander, who else would you be? But you know what I mean!"

She stopped her babbling on a dime, instead latching on to him for dear life.

"Yes," he said, awkwardly patting her back, "it's pretty wild stuff."

Willow pulled away, and starting walking once more. Excitement oozed out of her every pore.

"I mean, with you learning this kind of magic, and Miss Calendar teaching me a little bit about other kinds of magic, we'll totally have the magic market cornered!"

"Yeah, we can be the 'Siegfried and Roy' of Slayer assistance."

Willow plowed on like she never heard him. "I wonder if we can somehow combine magic? I betcha it would be really powerful if we could. I wonder if it works that way?"

"No idea. I didn't really have time to go into the finer details with Miss Moneypenny."

"Oh," Willow pouted, "well I guess that's something we'll have to ask Giles about."

She pressed on. "So do you know when your school year starts? Or what exact subjects you'll be studying?"

"Umm, no."

"Really?" She was starting to get all dog-on-bone. "I'd thought she'd go over the specifics with you, since they said there wasn't much time. I wonder if you'll have to wait to get your textbooks, or if you can get them early, or if they even have textbooks. Who knows at magic school? Anyway, I hope that I can take a look at some of the information before you leave. It's all so fascinating."

Her excitement pressed on his chest, and not in a fun way. Guilt was an emotion he did not deal with well.

"Yeah, just so you know, I'm not gonna go."

There. Done. Quick and simple. It was a relief for him to get that out in the open. Now she knew where he stood: Feet firmly planted in the U.S. Of A.

What took him a few seconds to notice was where _she _stood, which was the same spot as when he dropped the bombshell. He stopped and turned around to find her staring at him, yet another unreadable look on her face.

"Xander."

"Yeah?"

"You're joking, right?"

He looked at her in confusion. "Did you miss that whole part about it being an entire year in Scotland?"

Her hair danced from her head shaking. "No, I heard that part. Believe me I did. I just..."

"What is it?" he asked impatiently.

She huffed out a frustrated breath. "Did your brain go kablooey?"

She continued, "Magic, Xander. You're talking about learning magic, in a castle! A European castle. With wands! And actual witches and wizards! And oooh, I bet dragons, and pretty unicorns, and maybe Mickey Mouse in his cute 'Fantasia' outfit! And books! The books Xander! I bet they're amazing and fantastic! Magic books, Xander! On magic!"

"You said 'magic' like four times."

"I keep saying the word magic, because it's _magic_!"

This was turning into a bad sitcom.

"I don't want to go to school in a Scottish castle, no matter how powerful the cool implications," he answered.

Her eyes rolled in exasperation. "I refuse to believe that's the only reason. There's got to be something else stopping you."

He threw up his hands. "There's a lot of 'something else's' stopping me. So what? It doesn't matter. I couldn't go for that long."

"Why not?"

His hackles were starting to rise. "Because I get bored easily. Where are you going with this?"

She looked him dead in the eye.

"I think you should go," she said simply.

The words hung in the air, suffocating him worse than a peanut butter sandwich with milk. Unlike earlier at Giles', no feeling of dread rose through his body.

Maybe it had something to do with the blinding anger he was feeling instead.

"Come on Willow. Not you too." He started walking away from her. He could taste the nasty words on his tongue, and he didn't want to let them slip out.

The pitter-patter of feet accelerated right past him, and she started backpedaling as she turned and faced him.

"Will you at least listen to me before you run off in a huff?" She was just as pissed as he was.

"Sorry, not in the mood to hear how you want me to 'go poof' and disappear for a year."

Willow dug in her heels, and actually stopped Xander from proceeding. "No one wants you to 'go poof'. Stop being so dramatic and for the love of Pete stop walking!"

Xander stopped moving forward, but that didn't stop him from pacing side to side.

"Now, I know this will be a difficult adjustment," she started.

He snorted. "Are you sure you didn't get the Cliffs Notes version from Giles, because he pretty much started the same way."

"That's because he knows how good this could be for you."

"Oh please."

"What?"

"I love how everybody has a much better idea of what I should be doing with my life than I do," he said with some heat.

"It's not that," Willow started, "it's that we can see where this could lead for you."

"And I can't?"

She waited a beat before answering. "Right now, no."

A cold, unnatural laugh escaped him, "Oh jeez, thank god for smart people in my life. If poor little old me ever had to make a decision on my own, I would just screw it up."

"Hey," she screeched, "don't do this whole, 'woe is me' routine. No one is saying you're stupid. What I'm saying is that maybe, just maybe, you're not thinking this all the way through."

The blood pistoned through his heart, and he was having trouble catching his breath.

"And what, you have to spell it out for me? Cross my 'T's' and all of that? You keep saying you don't think I'm stupid, but then you say I'm not thinking this through. Which is it? I mean, god forbid I have a thought or notion that's not the same as yours."

"What does that mean?" she asked in surprise.

"It means that I'm tired of you butting in. Maybe when you can learn to talk to a guy without going all spastic, you can comment on all my bad decisions."

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth set into a thin line. "You know what, fine; you are an idiot! There, you happy? If you can't talk to me like an adult about an awesome opportunity for you, then you deserve to peak at seventeen!"

With that pronouncement, she spun on her heel, and marched right up the road. He let loose a stream of air from his mouth, rubbing his hand over the back of his head.

No doubt he was in the running for jackass of the year, but at the same time his anger was still very warm and toasty.

"What do you want from me, Willow?" he asked, throwing up his hands in exasperation. She didn't answer, but she did stop walking. "Seriously, what do you want from me?"

She turned around, marching right back his way. Her eyes shined with fire and unshed tears.

"I want you to want something more out of your life for once!" she yelled.

"I help fight vampires over the mouth of hell! Pretty much all I want out of life is to have one!"

She was now nose to nose. This was a new, scary side to her.

"Screw slaying!"

He imagined that at that moment his eyes were doing a pretty fantastic impression of an owl, because he sure didn't see that one coming.

"Guess what Xander; just slaying, just living? Not good enough."

Her long, pale finger repeatedly poked him in the chest. "I will never, ever let you just skate by for the rest of your life. I care about you way too much to let that happen. I know you; you haven't given two thoughts to what you want to do after high school. I didn't mind before, because I knew most kids don't have a clue beyond what party they plan on going to. But since Buffy's secret came out and we both decided to help her, I've been terrified."

"Willow," he said in a much softer voice. He could sense she was on the verge of losing it. "living in Sunnydale and going to school here is dangerous, whether or not we help Buffy. I mean, look at Snyder."

She did crack a small grin, but didn't meet his eyes. Stopping her seemed to knock some fire out of her speech, but the emotion was still there.

"It's not that. I'm afraid that helping Buffy will always be enough for you. It breaks my heart to think that you might never have a family, or a career, or friends who don't know the best way to kill an internet demon from the middle ages."

He did the only thing he could think of, and opened his arms. He could feel her body tremble, hear her soft cries. A wave of something indescribable passed over him.

To have at least one person in the world care so strongly about your well being was humbling and terrifying.

"You want me to be serious?" he began. "Okay, but let's be honest with ourselves. There's no way I'm getting into college. My parents will probably kick me out of the house when I'm eighteen, if I'm lucky. Helping Buffy do what she does, it makes me feel important, even if what I do isn't. There aren't a lot of options out there for me, and I've learned to live with it."

She pulled away, the passion reignited. "That's the problem. I'll never let you just 'live with it.' This magic inside of you, not only could it help you help Buffy, but it gives you options to live a life that you don't have now."

He took a step back from her to give himself some much needed breathing room. "I know that," he said.

"Then what's the problem? Is it really just being away for a year? I know it's tough, it will be tough for me too. More than you know." She said the last part in a strangled voice. "But I can take missing you for a year if I know this will lead to something better."

That was the million dollar question. What, really, was holding him back? Was it being away for a year? Unfortunately he knew that wasn't the case. Inner Xander told him there was more to it. The real question was, could he speak it aloud? Even with everything she had said and done for him in the last few minutes, he was still hesitant.

He didn't like to discuss any of his fears with anyone. Not because he was afraid they would agree, but more that they wouldn't care.

His brain swung like a pendulum between 'yes' and 'no' as he stared at her face. The way she looked back, and the love and compassion that single look conveyed, gave him the strength.

"Giles," he began. The words sounded soft to his ears, "he said that I should go because it would give me the opportunity to finally contribute something to the group."

Willow's eyes narrowed. "Did he?" she hissed. "Well, rest assured mister, that I will be having a chat with our friendly neighborhood librarian."

"No, it's just -" The words got caught in his throat. He took a moment to compose himself. "What if he's wrong?"

"Ummm, of course he's wrong."

Xander shook his head. "Not about me bringing anything to the table now, but what if he's wrong about me going over there and learning anything? You know my track record doesn't exactly point in my favor."

Her confused expression softened. "Xander, I say this with as much kindness as I can; you are not a school person."

"Your idea of kindness is strange and demon-like."

"Will you let me finish," she said, a good natured smile on her face. "Like I said, you are not a school person. That's not a knock on you, some people are just not built that way. But, I think you will really take to learning magic."

At his dubious expression, she continued. "Think about it: you'll actually be learning something you want to learn, something that will interest you."

"That's true," he said begrudgingly, "not like stupid math."

"Math is important Xander. How are you ever going to learn to balance a checkbo -" She stopped, took a deep breath, and continued. "You know what? Nevermind."

"Plus, I have faith in you. You may not believe it, but you're the strongest person I know."

"Stop it," he teased. "You're just trying to make me blush."

It was actually her that blushed. "The things you've been through, it's amazing to me that you have turned out so well. That's why I know you can do this."

He thought about her words with a clear, cool head. Most likely for the first time that day. What she said did make a kind of sense, minus the whole strongest person she knows part.

Still, the thought of leaving for a year did weigh on him. For example, if something happened to Willow while he was gone, he didn't know if he could forgive himself.

But she was also right that this opportunity was something to think about before dismissing. Right now he was on the path to a lifetime of pizza delivery, and unless the hourly wage on that job sky rocketed a thousand percent, he was pretty much screwed.

"Xander," she began, interrupting him out of his thoughts, "you saw a woman turn a teacup into a napkin. If you learned to do something even half as cool, you might just faint in nerd glory."

"You know me so well," he said smiling.

He started walking once more, and Willow fell in step with him.

While they were being open and honest with each other, there was one more thing he wanted to bring up. He opened his mouth a few times to ask, but the words wouldn't come.

"What is it?"

Obviously she had noticed.

"Do you think if I go to Hogwarts and come back all magically amplified, Buffy will be impressed?"

A surprising amount of bitterness seeped through her answer. "Oh yeah, because she's the most important person to impress."

"Huh?"

"What?" Willow responded. She seemed to understand what she had just said. "Oh, well, I guess it couldn't hurt."

He gave his head a shake in agreement, and slowed his pace. He grabbed Willow's arm before she got out of reach.

"I'm sorry for being such a doofus earlier."

She let go a tiny laugh. "It's okay. If we stopped being friends every time you were a doofus, we would have never made it past age six."

She continued. "Just, promise me you'll think about it. Please."

This time, the answer came easier than he would have thought.

"Okay, sure, I'll at least think about it. But no promises."

The smile she gave him was totally worth the heavy lifting his brain would be going through the next few days.

"Okay. I'll do my best not to bug you too much, but I can't -"

"_GGRRRRRR!!"_

Their heads shot to the left, toward a grove of trees.

"Was that -" Willow started to ask.

There it was again; a definite growling noise. It dawned on him for the first time that he was out in the middle of the night, in an unlit street, with no protection.

Idiot.

"Oh yeah, that's totally a vampire," Xander said.

Apparently the vampire in question was waiting for a proper introduction, because it finally made it's presence known. It stood about forty yards away, and looked to be a fit and trim yuppie man in his late twenties. The fact it was wearing a very expensive dirt lined suit meant it had most likely awoken that night.

Didn't mean it couldn't kill them any less.

"Umm, Willow." They both were slowly backpedaling away from the vampire.

"Yeah?" The fear in her voice was palpable.

"Run!"

Xander grabbed Willow's hand, and took off. They ran in the direction of Main Street, where hopefully the throngs of people would stop the vampire from attacking. Short of stopping and trying to kill the thing with no stake, that was their best option.

After about ten seconds of running, that option seemed to fly right out the window. Willow was a great many things, but a speed demon was not one of them. Not only did he slow his steps to make sure she could keep up, but by her heavy breathing and death grip on his hand, she didn't have much running left in her.

The sound of wingtips on cement getting closer made him aware that they were about to get overtaken, and they weren't even within seeing distance of Main Street, let alone anything that might make the vampire take pause.

They were out of options.

Xander abruptly stopped, almost causing Willow to topple over.

"Keep going!" he screamed. "I'll try and slow him down."

"I'm not going to just leave you here! Don't be stupid!"

He forced a fake grin, putting on a brave face for her that he absolutely did not feel.

"I thought you said I wasn't stupid. Jeez Willow, make up your mind."

She snapped her hand up, finger pointed over his shoulder. Her face contorted into unbridled fear.

"Look out!"

He had just a split second to turn before the vampire was on him. The vampire made a clumsy swipe at his head, which he ducked. In a moment of misbegotten toughness, he threw a truly awful right hook at the vampire. Unfortunately it landed right on the crown of its head. While the only effect it had on the vampire was to make it growl that much louder, his hand throbbed.

Xander shook his hand and winced. Obviously it was a stupid maneuver to take your eyes off a vampire, but the pain shooting up his arm kind of made thinking foggy.

That meant he didn't have time to avoid the vampire's next attempt at a punch. The backhand connected solidly against his temple, and stars exploded behind Xander's eyes as blood exploded from his mouth.

He stumbled from the force of the blow and fell over trashcans at the end of a driveway. He didn't even hear the crash over the ringing in his ears.

He struggled for a few seconds to remove himself from his garbage can prison. His thoughts were muddled and his senses were still on the fritz.

It looked like that magic security blanket of protection Penelope mentioned was on the fritz. What a joke.

Then an image of Willow's face flew across his vision. The spiking fear caused him to double up his efforts to stand. He had to help her, he had to save her, he had -

To watch Angel kick the crap out of 'Vampire Stockbroker guy?'

He got his bearings in time to see Angel stake the fledgling right through the heart.

The dust of the former vampire swirled around Angel, creating a cloak of darkness that went perfectly with the swipe of his duster as he fanned it behind him. He was the un-living embodiment of what women would call 'the mysterious man'.

What a douche.

"Are you okay?" he heard Angel ask Willow. He was looking at her with that brooding 'I'm so wounded' look. Of course Willow gobbled it right up. They all did.

Xander muttered as he stood. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. I mean, I think my face is still attached to my body, but I'm only guessing on account of the pain."

"Xander! Are you okay?" Willow came running over. Angel followed, but at a much less hurried pace. She winced when she got close, and lightly touched the side of his face the vampire had smacked. He hissed in a breath at the contact.

"You know me; I had him right where I wanted him."

He turned to Angel, "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you don't get killed. I promised Buffy I would watch over the two of you while she was gone."

Xander furiously wiped himself off, his actions matching his now bitter mood. "Thanks for waiting until the vamp got done treating me like a chew toy, but I think we can take it from here."

Angel smirked slightly. "Of course. You did a great job guarding those trash cans."

"Angel, please; not now." Willow said.

He didn't continue, but he didn't apologize either. In fact, he was giving Xander the creeps by the way he was suddenly looking at him.

"What?" Xander asked.

"There's something different about you. There has been for awhile, but tonight it's a lot stronger."

That statement caught Xander off guard. The look he exchanged with Willow showed she felt the same way.

He decided to play it close to the vest. "I'm trying a new shampoo, so maybe your vampire nose is picking that up. Actually, I hope that's not the case."

Angel ignored the barb, and took a step closer. "It's not that. Being this close to you, it's making my skin crawl."

"Hey, now you know how I feel!" he said with sarcastic enthusiasm.

"Would being magical have anything to do with it?" Willow asked slowly.

Xander shot her a look, but she didn't seem the least bit sorry.

"Magic? No, that wouldn't do anything."

"Even if it was the wand kind of magic?" she asked again.

That got a rise out of Angel. His eyes grew a tiny fraction, which for his stony face, was like screaming for the hills.

"You?" he asked, nodding toward Xander.

"That's what they tell me."

"That's not possible, I would have felt it before." He was so damn confident in his answer, in the belief that Xander could never achieve something like this. It royally pissed Xander off.

Willow answered. "He's always been this way, but it didn't come out until he brought Buffy back to life in the Master's cave."

Nice jab, he thought. Xander was glad to see something akin to shame on Angel's face. It gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction.

"I've never heard of that happening."

"Yeah, Xander is the first known case ever." Willow said with pride.

"Hmmm. So there won't be more of you?"

"Not as far as we know. Why?" Willow asked.

It was a moment before Angel answered. "Let's just say that vampires don't do well when wizards are around."

"Why's that?" Willow asked.

"The closer one gets to a vampire, the more uncomfortable it feels for us; like nails on a chalkboard."

Xander perked up at this. "Really? Well that's some sunshine on a cloudy day."

"So being around Xander, that's really making you uncomfortable?"

"Not that bad. The stronger the wizard, the stronger the feeling." He turned to Xander, "You must be pretty weak."

Xander was one second away from delivering a killer dig about him not being able to save Buffy from the Master, telling him how if he really loved her, he would have found a way: basically pick apart every feeling of self loathing Angel had about that day, and rub it right into this ridge-y face.

But he found that after the day he'd just had, he didn't have it in him anymore.

Instead he answered, "You're just jealous you don't have a shiny new superpower."

Angel smirked again, but this time with no malice behind it. "Yeah, maybe. The truth is weaker wizard's actually make better vampire hunters."

"Ooh," Willow said excitedly, "is it because it's easier for them to get the drop on vampires if they can't sense them as easily?"

Angel shook his head in the affirmative.

"'Getting the drop on them.' Way to use the proper tough guy lingo, Wills."

"Thank you. I've been practicing."

Angel gave them a ghost of a smile. "Come on, I'll walk you two home."

They started off in the direction of Willow's home. As she slipped her arm in Xander's, he gave more thought to the conversation they'd just had. There were definitely some useful bits of information, which was unusual coming from 'Mr. Enigmatic' himself.

But something about it was bugging him.

"Hey," he asked Angel, "why are vampires so freaked out by my kind of magic? Can't just be the bad vibrations."

Angel walked a few steps before answering. "No, it's not. I've seen a wizard create fire and sunlight faster than I could blink, and from what I've been told, those are spells children learn."

Willow jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. When he looked at her, she was giving him a big, toothy grin. She waited until Angel got some distance on them, then beckoned Xander to bend over so she could whisper in his ear.

"Now I know THAT makes it totally worth it."

The smile on his face stretched ear to ear.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Speical Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

* * *

"We are totally lost. Like, so lost the Griswolds would be embarrassed."

Giles took a deep, steadying breath before answering. "For the last time, we are not lost Xander. We are in Los Angeles, we are heading, err, " he checked the stick-on dashboard compass, "west, and according to the map, we should be arriving at our destination shortly."

Banging his head on the headrest accomplished nothing, but at least gave Xander something to do. Like right this very second. "You said that thirty minutes ago, and I still don't see the Portkey Hub. I'm this close to invoking 'liar liar pants on fire'."

Annoyed eyes met Xander's in the rear view mirror. "Well I apologize for failing to realize that we would only move half a mile in that time."

Giles continued. "Honestly, how people can live with this much traffic is mind boggling. Human beings were not meant to waste life sitting in their car, listening to pedantic views of politics on an AM radio station, or what passes for 'Top 40' drudgery. Now please lean back, stop talking and – wait, that man in the orange _pick-up truck_," he said like a curse, "was supposed to let me merge! He's not obeying proper traffic laws!"

Xander threw a glare at a giggling Willow sitting in the passenger seat while Giles honked at the offending vehicle. He shifted around, trying to find a sweet spot to ease his aching muscles. It didn't work. Trying to get comfortable in the back of the Gilesmobile was like trying to be comfortable talking with your parents about sex.

That meant he had to settle for watching the scenery pass by - or in this case, crawl by - while his legs cramped up.

God, Giles had a feather foot on the accelerator. Xander could shimmy faster than this.

Not that he was eager to actually get to their destination. Thinking about it made his stomach flip, which in turn made him glad he skipped his usual breakfast of a half box of 'Fruity Pebbles.'

In the two weeks since he decided to go to Hogwarts, the days had pretty much turned into a blur. Apparently uprooting your life and moving out of the country for a year was a lot harder than he originally thought. He'd signed and read so many documents, he was seeing legal speak in his sleep.

He was pretty sure he had induced early arthritis in his right hand by signing everything from insurance disclaimers, to a form saying he understood the principles behind Floo traveling, to a waiver from accidental death by hippogriff; whatever the hell that was.

Wizards may be able to Mary Poppins the crap out of everything, but they still had a hard-on for basic paperwork.

Willow turned around, only her eyes visible above the head rest. "Xander, you look a little pale. You're not going to throw up are you?"

Of course that got Giles' attention from the drivers seat. He looked like his head would literally explode.

That was almost enough temptation to actually do it.

"Nah, I'm a vomit free zone."

Giles visibly relaxed; though he might have left permanent marks on the steering wheel.

"I'm just trying to soak it all in," Xander said. "I think the longest I've been out of Sunnydale was when I was ten and my dad made his yearly 'father knows best' attempt at taking me camping."

Willow gave him an encouraging smile. "Well at least this time he won't be punching out any park rangers for being 'uppity.'"

"Yay for small favors."

She flopped back into her seat. "Seriously, we've been over this like a million times; you're going to do great, you're going to make a ton of friends, people will love you and the way you say 'elevator' instead of 'lift,' insert other various uplifting phrases here, blah, blah, blah."

"Then why do I feel like I'm about to fly out of my skin?"

"It's perfectly normal to be nervous, Xander," Giles said. Not talking about traffic made his tone much more patient. "You're making a big change by not only going to a new country, but embracing a whole new way of life. That said, I am confident that with some hard work on your part, you can be successful."

"Yeah Xander, we both totally, absolutely, one-hundred percent believe in you."

Xander smothered a laugh at Willow's thinly veiled look toward Giles. The librarian did a good job of pretending he didn't notice, but hooking his finger in his collar and giving it a loosening tug gave him away.

After the mega-awkward blow up at Giles' place, Xander had avoided him for the next few days. It wasn't until Willow - being very 'un-Willow' by ripping Giles a new one – forced the two of them to sit down and talk that he finally told Giles of his decision to go.

Giles agreed with him one-hundred percent, while at the same time apologizing profusely. It'd been nice to hear at first; it helped smooth over some of the resentment from that crack about 'finally contributing something to the group.' But after twenty minutes of Giles fawning, even he got tired of hearing how great he was. Plus it was weird to hear kind words about his education from an adult male.

It had actually encouraged him to take this a little more seriously than he had been. That meant he picked up some of the books Penelope left for him instead of using them for coasters, and read more in the last two weeks than he had in the last two years. The best part was that he didn't even need Willow to help explain any confusing or wordy bits; he got it all on his own. It seemed she'd been correct in suggesting that understanding magic would come to him easier than his other studies.

Not that she let him have all the fun. She geeked out so hard for this entire magic thing, he was afraid she would somehow stow herself away in his luggage.

Still though, there was only so much you could learn in a few weeks.

The magical world had a history and culture that was completely different than anything he was familiar with. Most of these people had no clue about items in his world, the basic Muggle world, such as phones, cars, or electricity; instead they had magic to handle those things for them.

Many times he thought about giving up, figuring the transition would be too hard.

But then he would learn about something immensely cool, like that that whole teleportation thing. He had to physically stop himself from screaming out loud in joy when he read about that. He would do whatever they told him if he could figure out how to pull that off.

"It's too bad Buffy was out of town this weekend," Willow said. "I know she would have gotten a kick out of this."

"And, I don't know, maybe say goodbye to me, too, possibly," he teased.

"Oh, that too! You know she'll miss you!" she said, a panicked expression on her face. And that was why teasing Willow was no fun.

"Xander," Giles began. He was peering back at him once more in the rear view mirror, this time with a far more hesitant look. "If I may inquire; were there any problems convincing your parents to let you go overseas?"

A snort escaped before he could stop himself. "It's amazing how happy they were when I said the words, 'school in Scotland for a year,' and 'won't cost you a dime.'"

"That's, err, good I suppose."

"It's not surprising is what it is."

"Anyway," Willow broke in with an overly cheery manner. "Let's play something while we're getting traffic jam-y. How about twenty questions? I'll go first."

Xander and Giles both remained silent.

"Well fine," she huffed. "We'll just sit here, doing nothing except listening to people honk their horns and – oooh, look, it's Elvis!"

Willow smushed her face on the glass to stare at what had to be the worst Elvis imitator in Southern California, that is unless Elvis really was 6'8" and over four hundred pounds.

"What do you think he'd say if I asked for an autograph?" she asked.

"Thank ya, thank ya very much." Xander even threw in his best Elvis voice for good measure.

The car got incredibly quiet.

"Sorry," Xander said, "that was just awful."

Twenty-two minutes later, they arrived at their destination at the corner of Figaro and Belmont.

"Yikes," Willow muttered.

That pretty much mirrored Xander's sentiment. For being the alleged hub of magical transportation on the west coast, the entire area was woefully run down. There was graffiti on all the decaying buildings, and it was not the nice, clever stuff either. The storefronts were mainly pawnshops and check cashing places, with the occasional adult bookstore thrown in for good measure.

This street looked like the kind of place you would want to avoid at night, during the day, and twice on Sunday.

"There it is," Giles said. Xander followed his line of sight right onto the bus station.

"It doesn't look very wizard-y." Willow couldn't even hide her disappointment.

Giles tried to give her a reassuring smile as he parked the car. "It's important to remember that with the Wizarding world, apparently looks can be deceiving."

"They better be, because no one told me I'd need a gun and a tetanus shot," Xander said.

Giles turned off the ignition and got out of the car. Xander followed through Willow's side, finally unfolding his body from the cramped back seat of the Citroen.

He stretched out the kinks in his back, taking those few seconds to scan the neighborhood again. It wasn't much better the second time around, now that he discovered that smell of rotting everything.

He walked around to the back of the car as Giles opened up the trunk, grabbing his luggage.

"It truly is remarkable that Miss Clearwater was able to shrink all of your possessions into one suitcase," Giles said.

Penelope had stopped by Xander's house yesterday. Her attitude had been her usual mix of businesslike and clipped as she did her mojo on his luggage, shrinking it so it would fit in one bag while also making it feather light. It was going to be a lifesaver over the next day of traveling.

In fact the only problem was that he wasn't exactly sure how to get everything back to normal. Hawaiian shirts are meant to be baggy, not Ken doll size.

When she finished with the packing, Penelope surprised him by offering to escort him through the entire Portkeying process. Xander figured that she would have been running for the hills after the disaster of their last meeting.

Obviously that promotion was really, really important.

Suddenly a faint noise caught his attention. At first he couldn't place it, it happened so quickly. A few seconds later he heard it again. It sounded like fading static.

He looked up and down the street, but he didn't see anything.

There it was again. It lasted long enough this time to pinpoint it as somewhere past the intersection.

"Did you guys hear that?"

"No, I didn't hear anything," Willow answered. Giles shook his head.

Xander scratched his temple. "Huh, it sounded like people yelling or screaming, but only for a few seconds."

"Really?" Giles said, voice raising in alarm. "Well, this doesn't seem to be the best neighborhood. Perhaps we should head into the bus station. Miss Clearwater did say she would meet you out front, didn't she?"

Xander barely acknowledged him. "Yeah, yeah she did." He heard the noises one more time.

They were growing longer.

He started slowly walking toward the intersection.

"Xander, the bus station is right here," Willow said.

He didn't answer as he walked up the street. He felt the two of them fall in behind him. He could only imagine the looks they were giving each other.

"Xander, please, we don't have time for this. Neither Willow or I hear anything," Giles said.

The noise increased every step he took toward it. About two blocks up the road, he finally saw what apparently only he could hear.

The front door opening and closing of a very loud, very full restaurant.

Talk about a diamond in a pile of compost; this building was way too nice for the neighborhood. It looked brand spanking new. The brick storefront and tempered glass windows were completely different from the cement and barred, broken windows everywhere else.

He walked up and peered through the glass. It looked like a typical bar and grill place, including the big marlin on the wall behind the bar. The people inside were watching something on TV and going crazy.

He noticed everyone wearing shirts of the same color red with the same design on the front, which made him guess they were watching for some sort of sports team he didn't recognize. The emblem was a big, beautiful red and orange bird, with the name "Santo Esmerejón Fighting Phoenix."

He looked up at the restaurant's sign and was brought up short. The name of the place was "Gus's," but that's not what got his attention; the sign that looked like it was painted on simple wood kept changing color and design. The name went from green, to blue, to red, all the while changing font and style.

He had just stumbled onto his first magical restaurant. It looked so, normal. Well, relatively.

"Huh, didn't see that coming," Xander said.

"Umm, there are closed down wig shops in a lot of cities, Xander," Willow said.

He looked back at her in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"The store you keep looking at, 'House of Wigs.' It's completely decrepit and empty, which means, we should, ah, probably go," Giles answered.

He thought they were joking at first, until he noticed neither one cracked a smile. In fact, they were both looking kind of antsy. "You really don't see a restaurant?"

"Xander, what are you talking about?" Giles bounced on his feet, his discomfort almost palpable.

Willow, however, started bubbling over. "Wait, wait, wait; we read about this! Wizards put spells around their buildings so Muggles can't see them!"

That sounded familiar to Xander, too. "So wait, you really can't see anything?"

"No, I can't," Giles said. "Now can we please go back to the bus station?"

"What's with you?" Xander asked.

Willow piped in. "Oh, making them look old and broken is only part of it. They also make it so Muggles don't want to be around the buildings."

"Then why isn't it doing anything to you?" Xander asked.

"Oh no, it is. I'm totally icked out, too!" She smiled ear to ear.

"Yes, unfortunately we can't stay long. We're already late in meeting Miss Clearwater." Giles quickly made his way down the sidewalk.

Willow pouted. "Awww, but I want to try wizard chicken fingers, and wizard wings, oh, and maybe wizard chicken salad!"

"Do you think wizard chicken's kosher?" Xander asked.

Willow shrugged her shoulders.

They arrived back at the bus station to find Penelope Clearwater standing on the front steps. Xander didn't think he'd ever seen a person look more out of place. Business suits and tight hair buns were not the norm on the block.

"Yes, I see we're all here." She looked down at her watch. "And only twenty minutes late."

"Sorry, that was my bad," Xander said, putting his bag down by his feet. "I heard some weird noises, turned out it was just a bunch of drunks at a bar. You'd think I'd be able to recognize that by now."

"Ah yes," Penelope said sagely, "I believe you're talking about 'Gus's.' I heard a few people at the British consulate talking about it. They mentioned to avoid going on Saturday afternoons; apparently the quodpot fans are a little out of control."

"Quodpot?" Giles asked.

"Wizarding sport. From what I'm told it's very popular in the States. I wouldn't know; quidditch is the sport of choice in most other countries."

"Now," she continued, clapping her hands together, "we must really be going. I think it would be easier if you had your goodbye's out here. Mr. Giles and your friend are not cleared to proceed any further, remember?"

He did remember. How could he possibly forget? Still, her abruptness knocked the wind out of him. Knowing you were leaving home for a year was one thing; being confronted with the moment was something altogether different.

Willow's eyes grew glassy and her already chalk white skin paled. She was putting on a brave front. "You have the address of Giles' Watcher friend that's gonna relay our letters, right? Because Buffy and I both expect a running diary of every minute of every day."

He patted his shirt pocket, where he kept said address.

Willow threw her arms around him, hugging him to the point of suffocation. For the first time in a long time, he hugged back just as hard.

"I'm going to miss you, Wills." His voice was thick with emotion.

"Right back at ya, mister."

Then she leaned in, whispering into his ear. "Whatever happens, know that I believe in you, and I'm so proud of you. I would never be brave enough to do what you're doing. You go and find your place in the world. Don't worry about this year, Xander; we'll all be waiting here for you, because we'll never forget how much we miss you. How much I'll miss you."

He rested his head on top of hers, content to let that moment stretch out forever. Obviously they wouldn't get that chance. He reluctantly pulled away to find Willow giving him a watery smile.

He shook Giles' offered hand. "Good luck, Xander. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Giles. Can you do me a favor?"

"Name it," he said.

"Since I won't be around, you'll have to pick up the slack and make sure there's enough bad puns and inappropriate comments in the face of danger. It's a vital part of slaying."

Giles chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "I shall do my best."

Xander picked up his bag and took a deep breath. "This is one small step for man, and one scary hop skip and a jump for, err, Xander-kind."

Willow giggled and Giles rolled his eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, that sounded much cooler in my head."

"We really should get going. We're getting precariously close to running out of time," Penelope said.

Xander nodded, and followed Penelope toward the front entrance. He held the door open for her as she went through first. Before following, he turned to look at two of the most important people in his life. He tried to remember them as they looked now, because it would be twelve months before he laid eyes on their faces again.

He gave them one final grin and a wave before he took the plunge.

The first thing he noticed about magical Los Angeles was the smell.

That wasn't entirely fair; they weren't actually in Santo Esmerejón, which is what the natives called the magical part of the city. Still though, the lovely odor of vomit and overwhelming sadness wasn't exactly the best of first impressions.

Penelope was already briskly walking down the front hall. "This way," she said.

He hurried to catch up, doing his best to avoid touching anything. This bus station desperately needed a good cleaning and paint job – about twenty-five years ago. The people milling about didn't look like the friendliest bunch either; he was pretty sure the guy sitting against the vending machine in the tattered 'Members Only' jacket had just hissed at him.

They walked past the waiting area, which was full of fake plants and those orange plastic bucket seats that were required in all buildings in the 1970's. They continued on, past the ticket taker in the barred-in booth, who was leaning his head on his hand, fast asleep.

They made a right at the restrooms, of which the male side had police tape over the door. Down a ways there was a lady, who he guessed was homeless since she was wearing every bit of clothing she owned, laying in the middle of the aisle. Penelope didn't even bat an eye as she stepped right over her prone body. He felt the need to at least mutter a "sorry" as he stepped over, to which she snorted and rolled onto her side.

They made a few more turns, finally stopping in front of a door in a dark, dingy dead end hallway. By the looks of the dust buildup, they were the first people back here in a very, very long time.

"So, not that this hasn't been educational, but where to next?"

Penelope looked around the hallway with utter disdain. "Now we use the visitors entrance to get into Santo Esmerejón." She reached her hand out, pushing a button on the wall. Very slowly the door in front of them creaked open, sounding like a demon chewing on a tin can.

In actuality, what he thought was a door was an old-time elevator.

"So what, we take the Wonkinator up, up and away, out of the building? Does it even have enough speed to break through the glass?" he asked as he entered behind her.

She gave him a long, sideways glance.

"Wow, I keep forgetting I'm gonna have to contend with not only uptight British, but uptight British who have no idea about pop culture."

"However will you manage?" she said under her breath. "And for your information, we do not travel up to reach Santo Esmerejón. Did you not study any of the books I provided?"

"Of course I did. I just paid a lot more attention to the chapters about the stuff across the pond. Hey, what ya doing?"

Penelope's face lined in deep concentration, staring at the buttons in the elevator. He couldn't figure out what was so confusing, since there were only four possible choices: the first floor and the basement buttons, the switch to stop the elevator, and a phone to call if you got stuck. He noticed the phone cord was actually cut. Joy.

"I'm trying to remember the correct combination." She closed her eyes, and bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood. After a few seconds she opened her eyes and started pushing buttons: twice on the first floor, once on the basement, then three more times on the first floor. She then flicked the on-off switch three times. Penelope took a step back, and held her breath.

As soon as the lights started to flicker, she visibly relaxed.

"Who is the current 'U.S. Governor of Western Magical Affairs'?" asked a woman's voice with just a hint of a southern accent. He could have sworn the voice came over a loudspeaker, except Xander didn't see one anywhere in the elevator car.

Penelope chewed the side of her lip, her eyes raised up.

"Blast, who is it? Prunella Daughton or Jasper Strange?" It amused him that she was critical even in her self muttering.

"It's certainly one of those two, dearie," said the voice.

"Jasper Strange?" Penelope half answered, half asked.

"There ya go! I had a feeling about you; you look like a smart little lady," said the voice. "You have yourself a wonderful day, and welcome to lovely Santo Esmerejón. Oh, and don't forget to try our fine dining; especially you sugar; you're a handsome devil, but you're looking a little thin in your bones."

In answer to his questioning expression, Penelope said, "In case you're wondering, since this entrance is located in the Muggle world, you have to answer a question about magic in order for the elevator to work."

Xander scoffed. "Yeah, because that was that the only question I had."

Before Penelope responded, the door of the elevator began to shimmer. He tightened from being startled, but saw that Penelope hadn't even flinched.

Suddenly a button sprung up out of the door, like a worm burrowing to the surface. It even came complete with an actual popping sound. It was followed by another button, and another, until there were so many buttons appearing that it sounded like popcorn popping. It didn't stop until there were at least a hundred buttons in front of them.

Witches and wizards may not have known about Willy Wonka, but they definitely liked to rip off his work.

"I don't know why they have to give you so many options. I mean honestly, who would ever need to go to 'Mr. Ali Baba's House of Magic Lamp Repair," said Penelope. She gazed intently from button to button, an aggrieved expression on her face.

He felt his eyes glaze over as he stared at row after row of choices. From the ceiling to the floor, he saw stops for regular sounding places like, "Santo Esmerejón Municipal Building," "The Lord Darcy Agency," and "Greater Bell Water and Sewage."

But there were also not so regular buttons, like "Sunburst Stadium," "The Pegasus House: Home of Exotic Magical Creatures," "Caliburn and Kusanagi's Weaponry and Transportation," and the " Santo Esmerejón Weather and Structural Maintenance Building."

Suddenly Penelope exclaimed, "Ah, here we are; Santo Esmerejón International Portkey Hub." Her well manicured finger pushed the button marked, "SMX."

A split second later, he clutched the walls of the elevator for dear life as the car rocketed straight down. As his stomach could attest to, Knott's Berry Farm has nothing on this ride.

Penelope stood there, perfectly calm in the diving car. "For your own future clarification, Santo Esmerejón, along with being one of the top ten largest magical cities, is the only totally subterranean magical city in the world. Because of this, there is very little crossover with Los Angeles, along with a freedom to perform magic unlike anywhere else."

"Fascinating," he grunted. The elevator came to a blissful stop. He sighed in relief, just before it shot straight ahead, smashing his body against the back wall.

"Don't worry, you'll get the hang of magical travel soon enough." She had the nerve to smirk at him. He would have cursed her out, if he wasn't afraid he might throw up.

Mercifully, the elevator stopped just as abruptly as it began. He was proud he hadn't tumbled to the floor in a heap.

The elevator doors swooshed open. "This way," Penelope said, not looking back as she briskly walked out.

He followed, surprised to see what looked like the check-in area of an airport. For being his first taste of a magical city, it was actually pretty underwhelming.

He dropped his bag into the check-in line alongside Penelope. Since he wasn't really in the mood to make small talk with Miss Icy Professional, he let his eyes wander instead.

All the arrival and departure signs were moving and changing in a way that didn't involve electronics, but he had already seen that at 'Gus's'. The people at the security line still seemed as bored and indifferent as the ones in Muggle airports, so that wasn't a big shock. There was a twelve foot tall guy with pointy ears and horns walking out of the womens bathroom.

Okay, that was really weird.

Plus this was his first experience with people wearing robes. According to his books, it was much bigger in England than the U.S., but you still saw it around. Finally witnessing it live, it wasn't as odd as he thought. He'd seen people dressed much weirder on the street corner in Sunnydale. Heck, the robe wearers still hugged their loved ones good-bye just like everyone else.

But jeez, they had to be hot in those things.

He glanced to his left, which was the front of the Portkey hub. The entire wall was made of glass panes, which let him just see the tops of some large buildings stretching into the sunny, bright blue sky.

Then it hit him.

"Wait, if we're below ground, shouldn't there be darkness, and rocks, and possibly mole people?"

"You'll find magic to be a wonderful thing," she said simply.

He tried pondering the enormity of that statement while Penelope pulled out a black compact from her purse.

"Do you mind if I make a call while we're waiting? I really do need to check in with the office." Her tone was telling, rather than asking.

When she flipped it open, all he saw was a tiny mirror. "Yeah sure, knock yourself out. Just remember: If you ask it who the fairest of them all is, be prepared to not like the answer."

Her frosty gaze could have frozen metal. "Ms. Lumpet, are you there? Ms. Lumpet, it's me Penelope Clearwater," she said into the mirror. It only half surprised him when the face of an older, angry librarian type appeared.

"Ah, Miss Clearwater, excellent. You've called right on time. How is everything going?"

"As well as could be expected," she sniffed. Xander barely dignified her words with an eye roll. "We are waiting to check-in now."

"Excellent. Help the Muggleborn check in, and then head back to the embassy; you're needed there."

"You want me to stay in the U.S.?" she asked with surprise.

"Yes." Ms. Lumpet barely paid attention to the conversation, looking over paperwork instead of the mirror. "We need someone to help clarify some cauldron specifications with the Americans. They are trying to import three centimeter thick cauldrons when everyone knows you can't work with anything less than five. Not surprising, really."

Ms. Lumpet peered over Penelope's shoulder, giving Xander the stink eye.

"But what about -" Penelope stumbled.

"The quarterly meeting?" Ms. Lumpet finished. "Since you're not expected to present anything to management, it shouldn't be a big loss. Besides, this cauldron issue could escalate without proper supervision."

Even to Xander's untrained ears, Ms. Lumpet's words sounded callous and devastating. He tried to look everywhere except Penelope. At least that way he could give her some illusion of privacy.

"Of course. I'll leave immediately," she said, her words sounding hollow.

"Very well. Call back tomorrow at 7am, your time."

Ms. Lumpet abruptly disappeared.

No words were said as Penelope slid the mirror back into her purse. If she wanted to pretend nothing just happened, that was fine with him.

Around ten minutes later, they finally made it to the front of the line. They walked to the counter and stood in front of the short, portly handling agent, who was in the middle of stretching every button on his vest like a taught slingshot.

"Destination," chubby agent guy drawled.

Penelope pointed at Xander. "He's going to London, by way of the British Ministry of Magic."

"There is currently a warning for all travelers with a destination to London, or any of the British Isles."

"We're aware," she quickly responded.

Penelope went through her purse, pulling out a wad of paperwork she handed to the agent. His grubby fingers ripped it from her hands and quickly scanned the documents. He made little muttering sounds as he kept glancing at Xander.

"Any bags?"

"Just this carry on."

After giving Xander a final once over, the agent took out his wand, made some movements, then held out the paperwork to him.

"Thank you for choosing Santo Esmerejón International Portkey Hub for your magical transportation needs. Remember: hold on tight to the Portkey ring to avoid broken bones and internal bleeding. Have a magical day."

Xander slowly reached out to take the offered paperwork, seeing if there was a follow-up to that terrifying warning. The ticket agent stayed silent.

Just once, it'd be nice if someone went into a little more detail when it came to possible death and dismemberment.

"What warning for travelers to England?" he asked Penelope as they stopped in front of the security entrance.

"There have been some," she paused, rubbing her hands together, "unsavory characters causing some incidents around the country."

At the sight of his wide eyes, she continued. "Not that you have anything to worry about; they're isolated incidents, and you will be more than protected at Hogwarts."

He bit his tongue from commenting further, figuring the British magical government wouldn't go through the trouble of bringing him over, just to lead him to slaughter.

"Anyway, here we are. Obviously I will not be proceeding any further, but it's not too complicated; just follow the instructions and you should have no problem."

Xander fidgeted, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Good-byes weren't his strong suit, and he'd had his fill of them today. Plus, he didn't know what to say to Penelope. His original plan was for snarky, but after the dressing down she just received, even he wasn't that cruel.

"Well, this has been a lot of fun. We should really do it again sometime. Maybe have a spot of tea on the Thames."

He got the wry smile he was shooting for. "First, the river is pronounced 'Tems', and second, while Scotland is close to England in regards to the Earth, it's not exactly close enough for a lunch time meet-up."

"Gotcha. Wait, is geography a required subject at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"No."

"Well thank god for that."

Penelope nodded her head to him. "Well, good luck." She turned on her heel.

"Hey!"

Xander pressed on when she turned back. "Thanks for all your help. I know I haven't exactly been 'Mr. Model Student,' but I can't imagine making it this far without you."

"I'm sure you would have been fine," she said.

"I doubt it; you're the one that had all my identification papers." She actually laughed out loud, which made her finally look her age, instead of six months from retirement.

"Listen," he said while rubbing the back of his neck, "I could tell your bosses that if you want."

Penelope's cheeks and neck colored a pleasant rosy red. "You're welcome, and while I appreciate the offer, I don't think it's necessary."

"Okay, figured I'd put it out there. Well, I should get going." He hitched up his bag, beginning the trek to the security line.

He got about twenty feet before he heard her calling his name.

He stopped and turned around. Penelope stood there, more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. "I just want to say, good luck."

"Thanks," he said with a smile. "Any last second advice, you know, as a former student?"

"Oh yes, of course." Her voice shifted back to lecture mode. "Make sure to allot your self plenty of time for homework and studying. The teachers will work you hard."

He rolled his eyes. "Any advice that doesn't come from a motivational poster?"

"Avoid Peeves, don't eat anything with the word 'Weasley' in it, and for goodness sakes, do try to limit yourself to one British joke a day."

He laughed, then continued onto security. Maybe Penelope Clearwater wasn't so bad after all.

Xander made it out of security relatively unscathed in about half an hour, though a burly wizard with a lazy eye was a little poke-y with the wand. He did meet a nice elderly couple in line who were on their way to the worlds largest snitch in Cleveland. He just smiled and pretended he had a clue what they were talking about.

The one negative was the slow moving line, which meant there was only twenty minutes before his scheduled departure.

He rubbed his left arm where a nice red welt was forming. What a lazy eyed jerk.

At first glance the terminal reminded him of the check-in counter; exactly like a regular old airport. There were gates as far as the eye could see, shops and restaurants all along the sides, and people hustling and bustling everywhere.

But the longer he looked, the more peculiarities started to rise to the surface. It turned out those hustling and bustling people had their luggage floating behind them. And those shops along the walls were places Xander had never heard of, like, "Rivey's Wizarding Sweets," "The Dragon's Heart Pub," and "Professor Pietro's Potion Palace."

Oh, and the fact that he just passed a group of goblins, who, coincidentally, seemed to be a really cranky bunch. Good thing he spotted them in a Wizarding creatures book a few days ago, otherwise he might have tried to take care of them himself; mainly by calling Buffy and crying, "Demon! Demon!"

"You look like you could use a vacation."

He spun around, but couldn't find the owner of the very sultry female voice. It was like it came out of thin air...once again.

Man, he was getting tired of dealing with invisible women.

"Yoo-hoo, to your left."

He did what she asked, and still didn't see anyone. The only things around were a garbage can, a couple of people walking by, a big poster advertisement for some tropical island -

He squinted. If he stared hard enough, he could swear that the woman in the poster was waving at him.

He slowly pointed his finger to his chest. He looked around to make sure no one saw how ridiculous he was being.

Until the woman smiled and shook her head yes.

Okay, one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen was currently smiling and flirting with him.

So she was a poster and thus didn't really exist? Whatever.

He took a few steps closer. The poster had "The Seven Wandering Waterfalls of Wobegon" written in big lettering at the top. The scene itself showed a group of magnificent waterfalls seemingly falling out of the sky into one crystal blue lake.

The beautiful blond woman in question was sunning herself amongst the rocks and trees around the pooling water.

Boy that red bathing suit sure was missing a lot of fabric.

"You look tense," she purred.

"Well, ah -" he stumbled. Jeez, he couldn't even look her in the eye.

Sensing his embarrassment, she said, "You know, feel free to look; that's why I'm here."

He cackled like a madman at the absurdity of the whole thing, but did as she asked. "So, how's life as an inanimate object?"

She shrugged languidly. "I spend all my life without a care in the world, sunning on the banks of the luxurious waterfalls of Wobegon. Can you say that?"

He stopped laughing, and his eyebrows knit together. "Well, no, but -"

"I don't know how people could NOT live like this," she said, flicking water droplets from her fingers. "The sunlight kissing your skin with the lips of a god; the temperature so perfect it feels like you just walked into a dream; people so happy, so free, that you can't help but get swept up in the overflowing emotions of perfection."

Her words hypnotized and lulled him into utter relaxation. He stared deeper at the poster. Why shouldn't everyone go to such a wonderful place?

"Plus it's a great family destination, with plenty of things for the kids to do; like "Mermaid Dan's Water Cove," full of the rip-roariningist water slides this side of Atlantis!" she said, sounding very much like a radio DJ.

He snapped out of his daydream. Wow, and he thought subliminal advertising was bad on television.

"Well, that whole mermaid thing sounds nice - even though the thought of a male mermaid ruins a few of my fantasies – but I really need to get going. I have a Portkey to catch."

"Awww," she pouted, "and where do you have to go that's so much better than being with me?"

He giggled like an enchanted schoolgirl at prom. God he was such a dork.

"I'm off to England. Well, England first, then Scotland."

"England," she said, scrunching up her nose. "But that's no fun! You don't even need sunscreen over there!"

"I'm not going for fun; I'm going to study. Believe me, no fun will be had."

"Oh well," she said, lowering her sunglasses and giving him a wink, "that's too bad. It would have knocked your socks off."

He gave her a smile. "At least we'll always have this walkway."

Her laugh sounded like tinkling bells. "When do you have to leave; you're much more interesting than most of the cretins that stare at me."

She continued, speaking like she was thinking out loud. "I mean I know I'm unbelievably attractive, but could you at least pretend not to completely ogle me. If I had feelings, I'd be insulted."

He grabbed the paperwork, and pulled out his ticket. "Ummm, I depart in," he looked at his watch, "fifteen minutes from gate C3."

"C3?" she said in amusement.

"Yeah, why?"

"Oh nothing, only that it's at the complete opposite end of the Portkey hub."

"Which means?" he asked in alarm.

"That if you run, you _might_ make it there in time."

His eyes almost popped out of his head.

"You're serious?" he squeaked.

She laughed and nodded her head.

"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap," he mumbled as he smashed the paperwork into his pocket. He turned on his heel and took off.

"Good luck!" she yelled after him. "If you get the chance, stop by and see the 'Seven Wandering Waterfalls of Wobegon, MN'! I know you'll love it!"

He stopped in his tracks and turned back. "Really? Minnesota?"

She smiled, put her glasses back on, and blew him a kiss.

"Huh. Go figure," he said in bemusement. Then he took off running again.

Fourteen minutes and fifty-five seconds later, he sprinted up to the gate just as they were shutting the door.

"Wait!" he yelled. "Stop that Portkey!"

The worker at the door huffed, but opened the door back up.

"Are you on the Portkey to Boston?" she asked.

"Oh, ah, no," he said in confusion. "I'm supposed to go to England, but I swear the ticket said this gate."

"Boston is the only American hub you can use to Portkey to England. Ticket please," she said in a bored tone.

He pulled out the paperwork from his pocket, which had now wadded up into some indescribable form. He picked through it hopelessly for a moment, then just handed the entire thing over to the not so nice worker with the beehive hairdo.

"I hope you know you're making everyone else late, sir," she said as she found the ticket in question. "We run on a tight schedule."

Xander looked at his watch, and saw that he was now literally fifteen seconds late. By the look on the workers face though, he decided not to protest his innocence.

She ran her wand over the ticket, and handed it back to him. "Thank you for visiting SMX. Please make sure to touch the Portkey at all times; SMX is not responsible for any lost or misplaced items you may lose on route, or any lost limbs."

"So how does this thing work anyway?" He hitched his bag back up on his shoulder. "No one's told me how to -"

"Your Key Attendant will describe everything to you," she interrupted. "Please sir, you must hurry."

She shoved him not so gently through the door, slamming it behind him. He was faced with a thirty foot walkway with a door at the end. He started walking, ignoring the growing lump in his stomach. If there was a chance to screw this up, he was confident he'd find it.

When he got around five feet from the door, it opened on it's own; a harried, rumpled string bean of a man waiting on the other side.

"Please hurry sir, we're running late."

He didn't feel surprise as he stepped into the room, just befuddlement. The room itself was about the size of a banquet hall, with around one hundred or so people surrounding what looked like a floating brass hula-hoop that fit most of the room. Whether they were inside or outside the ring, everyone had a hand on it.

He turned to the Key Attendant. "I'm not exactly sure what I'm -"

The man rolled his eyes. "Of course he has to be a first timer," he muttered. He marched over to an open space between two young boys playing swords with their wands, and a man in a dapper robe, reading a book on the history of American Hit Wizards.

"See this? All you have to do is touch it at all times. Oh, and make sure you're holding your bag, too. We have enough people leaving luggage behind."

"And bodyparts?" Xander asked with a nervous laugh.

The man smiled condescendingly, and stepped away.

Xander slowly wrapped his left hand around the ring as the attendant made his way to a little platform by the door. Once he was up in the air, he took his wand, and stuck it under his chin.

"Sorry for the delay folks." His voice boomed throughout the room like he spoke into a megaphone. He was also staring very hard at Xander. "You will be departing in forty-five seconds. Please make sure to touch the Portkey at all times, while maintaining a grip on any luggage you may have."

One of the little sword fighters bumped into Xander, which made the mother light into her son. It was nice for Xander to have a reminder of his home life in this odd situation.

The attendant continued. "If you feel your item is too large to successfully maintain contact with, then please see the attendant nearest you, and they will put it with the rest of the outbound luggage."

His tone became much more friendly. "Our main office informs me that the Portkey today to Boston should be relatively turbulence free, so you should have a smooth, bump free ride." That got a collective sigh from most of the people.

The attendant looked at the countdown clock at the front of the room. It was at seventeen seconds. "Anyway, thank you for choosing SMX, and we look forward to providing your Portkey needs in the future."

The clock struck ten, and the attendant started counting down with it.

"10, 9, 8," he boomed.

Xander gripped the bar tighter. No one around him seemed to be nervous, but he still squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't like flying the one time he did it, either.

"1"

The next second, he felt his body jerk forward like one of those terrible vaudeville acts who gets the hook. If he thought the elevator was rough, this Portkey put it to shame. He was failing and soaring at the same time, with no idea which direction was which. He tried to scream out, but his lungs felt deflated.

He held onto the bar with a death grip as seconds felt like hours. Suddenly, with a great whooshing noise, he reappeared in the room and promptly slammed into the ground.

He groaned, sitting up. He looked around to see if anyone else was injured. He hung his head when he realized that not only was no one else injured, everyone landed on their feet.

"Welcome to Boston," blared a female voice. "Please exit in an orderly fashion to the front left."

He noticed the room was different than the one he was just in. He had traveled over three thousand miles in a few seconds. He could barely wrap his mind around the idea. The way his stomach felt though, he wasn't sure he liked the trade off.

"Hey Billy, that guy landed on his ass! What is he, a Muggle?" cackled the little punk. He and his sword fighting partner sure were enjoying his misery.

The kids mother laid into him once more, dragging the little wand punk out of the room and screaming about his language. The kid looked back at Xander before walking through the door. Xander gave him a mocking wave, which the kid returned with a middle finger behind his mother's back.

Xander stood up, and dusted himself off with as much dignity as he could muster. He walked with rubbery legs toward the exit.

A quick thought struck him. "Excuse me, ma'am?" he asked the attendant.

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me where to go next?" He handed her his ticket.

"Absolutely," she said with a customer service smile. She looked over his ticket. "Oooh, going to England, huh? That should be fun!"

He agreed with a queasy nod.

"Anyway," she continued, "your next Portkey leaves in twenty minutes for Pangnirtung."

"Where?" he blurted.

"Aren't you sweet?" she said with hands on hips. "The International Confederation of Wizards ruled that you couldn't just go from the U.S. straight across the Atlantic; too much chance of being caught in the Bermuda Triangle. So that means you're off to Pangnirtung, Nunavit, Canada. It's the next stop on the line to England!"

The obnoxious smile never left her face. "Then, you're off to Reykjavik, Iceland, followed by good old London, England. All in all, you should be there in less than an hour!"

She handed him back his ticket, and gave him a friendly slug on the shoulder. "How great is that?"

"So I have to Portkey two more times?" he whined.

"Uh-huh!"

He slung his bag over his shoulder. "That's a lot of things lady, but great ain't one of them."

He walked out the door, leaving a very put out attendant behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Special Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

* * *

Walking down the streets of Diagon Alley, the singular focus of Xander Harris's life was getting his wand.

_Not that getting to this point had been a frolicking romp_, he thought. And with that, his mind slipped into memories of the last eighteen hours.

He'd arrived yesterday in London around eight p.m. local time, after a grueling forty-five minutes of Portkeying he wished never to do again. He didn't know what was worse; using the "ole' Harris charm" and throwing up on the moderately attractive witch next to him in Iceland, or having some guy - who easily looked to be over one hundred - tell him he needed to work on his coordination after he fell on his face for the third time.

If he ever made it past one hundred, he just hoped his heart was coordinated enough to still beat in his chest.

Then after all that fun, he still had to figure out how to get to Charing Cross Road from the London Portkey hub. He tried hailing a cab at first, then remembered that England didn't exactly work on the barter system, and he was woefully low on funds. Magical transportation was also out; his stomach would have never forgiven him.

So by the time he stumbled into the Leaky Cauldron after taking the Underground, he was tired, sweaty, and barely able to stand. Tom the barkeep said they had been notified he was coming, and a room was all set up. Xander had stood there, mouth flopping like a guppy; Tom was frickin' 'Igor' from 'Young Frankenstein'! When he almost asked for Gene Wilder's autograph, he knew it was time to turn in before something ridiculous happened.

He searched his room this morning when he'd been a little more coherent. It looked like a 'Medieval Times' version of a B & B; tons of wood, no electronics or even light fixtures. He had gotten a bit of a wake up call when the mirror told him his hair was too shaggy, but he'd been insulted by so many different magical voices already, he didn't even glare in anger.

After a quick breakfast of bangers and mash (which looked like sausage and mash potatoes to him, but whatever), he had asked Tom how to get to Diagon Alley. Technically he was supposed to wait for some guy named Hagrid to take him around tomorrow, but he'd figured he'd waited sixteen years to get here; why wait another day?

When he had stepped through the brick wall in the courtyard behind the pub, he couldn't help but smile: if Santo Esmerejón looked just like L.A. - albeit slightly left of center – Diagon Alley was like a steampunk/fantasy novel come to life. There were tightly packed cobbled streets, kerosene lamps for streetlights, people darting from shop to shop dressed in some quasi neo-Victorian apparel. He'd have been lying if he said this wasn't what he imagined a magical town should look like.

But it hadn't escaped him that those same people hurrying from shop to shop did so with an air of anxiousness. Add to that the boarded up windows, shifty stands selling 'defensive products' along the road, and 'Wanted' posters everywhere, and Xander had wondered if Penelope's mention of 'unsavory characters' and 'isolated incidents' was more serious than she let on.

He was jarred from his thoughts when he smashed into a wizard, long greasy hair completely obscuring his face.

"Watch where you're going, mate!"

Xander muttered an apology and started paying attention to his surroundings again. That was a long enough stroll down memory lane, he figured; time to focus on getting his own honest to goodness wand.

He turned the corner in front of "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions," eyes searching in every direction. He had no idea where one actually got a wand, and he didn't exactly feel comfortable asking one of the locals. So he kept walking.

Luckily the solution presented itself a few minutes later in the form of a big honking sign of irony; "Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."

The tinkling bells floated through the air as he pushed open the front door. The first thing he did was hold in a sneeze from the musty smell of wood that assaulted his nose. He took a quick look-see around the place: It was tinier than he expected. And dirtier too, if the thin layer of dust was any indication. There was a long oak counter with an old cash register, a small chair in the corner, and rows and rows as far as he could see of little boxes.

He stood there for about thirty seconds, waiting for someone to come out and help him. He didn't see a bell on the counter, or a door he could knock on.

"Hello?" he called out. "You have a paying cust - well an enthusiastic customer out here ready to go!"

No salespeople was an odd way to run a business; then again, if everybody absolutely had to have a wand, you didn't really need to do any advertising or aggressive sales. Still, a little schmoozing would be nice.

"Ah yes, I've been expecting you Mr. Harris."

Xander gave a start as an old, crazy white haired man rolled into view on one of those sliding ladders you see in libraries. The man stared with wide, silver piercing eyes that felt like they came equipped with x-ray detection.

"Normally, this is the part of the conversation where I ask you how you know my name," Xander said, laughing nervously. "But seeing as I'm in a store that sells magic wands, I'm willing to roll with a few punches."

"A wise attitude to adopt." He looked at Xander with a small smile as he climbed down the ladder. "My name is Ollivander, and the reason I know your name, is that I was told you were coming."

"Oh," Xander said. "Well that's kind of a letdown."

"An American at Hogwarts; how extraordinary," Ollivander said in wonder. "Never done before. But then again, Albus Dumbledore has always been one to fight tradition."

He paused. "Besides, what are most American's other than someone whose family originated somewhere else?" he asked with an upturned eyebrow.

"You know, that's the first time my name and the word 'extraordinary' have ever been in the same sentence."

"And you never knew about your magic until the last few weeks, did you?"

Now it was Xander's turn to rock an upturned eyebrow. Obviously Ollivander had no trouble shooting a conversation any which way.

"Eh, no; just had that bomb dropped on me by Penelope Clearwater."

"Mahogany, eleven inches, with a dragon heartstring core."

"Excuse me?"

"Miss Clearwater's wand."

"You remember her wand?" Xander asked in surprise.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Harris."

"That's a neat trick, I guess," Xander said slowly. "It makes sending a replacement wand easy enough if someone loses theirs in the couch cushions."

Ollivander disappeared as knelt down and started rummaging behind the counter.

"Listen," Xander started, apprehension in his voice. "I don't know how much a wand is: I mean, I have enough trouble figuring out the metric system, let alone converting twenties into wizarding money. So before we do -"

"The wand is being paid for by Hogwarts," said Ollivander, still unseen.

"That's good, I guess." He rubbed his neck and felt his face heat up. He hated taking charity, but he wasn't stupid about it; his little trip to discover his magical self would end pretty quickly without the one tool needed for magic.

Ollivander stepped out from behind the counter, grabbing a tape measure out of his pocket. "Hold up your wand arm, please."

"Err, okay." Xander extended his right arm. The tape measure jumped out of Ollivander's hand, measuring Xander's arm by itself. All the while, Ollivander kept muttering to himself and writing down on a notepad he pulled from his pocket.

"This isn't going to measure my inseam, is it?" Xander asked as it kept aggressively working.

Finally the tape measure jumped back into Ollivander's outstretched hand. He walked behind the counter and made his way down one of the aisles of little boxes. About halfway he stopped, pulled out a box at eye level, and brought it back to the counter. He took the lid off, revealing a wand inside.

"Go ahead," Ollivander said.

Xander looked at him in puzzlement.

"Give it a wave," he said, pointing at the wand.

It was like the words gave Xander's heart permission to beat ten times faster. This was it; the culmination of a decade of being a full fledged geek finally coming to mean something. His hands shook as he took the wand from it's silk pillow.

He almost dropped it twice before he held it loosely in front of his face.

"Yew, nine inches, unicorn hair for the core; stiff, good for transfiguration," Ollivander said.

Xander took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and swished his wrist.

Nothing happened.

"Nope," Ollivander ripped the wand from his hand, stuffing it back in the box. Disappointment erupted inside Xander. Of course he would screw this up. He screwed everything up. Just when he finally started getting excited about doing wizarding things, the whole operation -

Another box sliding in front of his face broke him out of his wallowing.

"What?"

"My boy, you didn't think you would only have one chance at finding the right wand, did you?" Ollivander asked kindly.

"Of course not," Xander said, trying to play it off, "that's just, crazy talk."

Ollivander was kind enough not to comment. "Well then, let's give it another go, shall we?"

Xander dug out this wand with much less reverence.

"Holly, ten and a half inches, dragon heartstring; pleasantly springy, excellent for defensive spells."

Xander flicked his wrist. This time he actually did something magical; sending the cash register up in flames.

"Holy crap!"

Xander put the wand down, frantic for any sort of water source or extinguisher. There were none. Were there no fire codes here?

Before he started trying to spit on it to put it out, the flames just disappeared. He saw Ollivander lower _his _wand and walk back through the aisle, not a care in the world as he put back the wand case.

Xander grabbed clumps of his hair. "A little heads up for the new guy would be nice!"

"Do buck up, Mr. Harris," Ollivander said as he placed another wand on the counter. "Now, let's try again."

Twelve wands later, and they were no closer to finding Xander's particular brand. He was frustrated enough to consider braving the many Portkeys back to the U.S. and never mentioning magic again.

Ollivander, on the other hand, looked like a pig in slop. The man had a real masochistic side when it came to difficult-to-place wands. Xander thought he heard him groan in glee when the last wand (walnut, fourteen inches, phoenix feather core) blew up the little rickety chair in the corner.

The bells on the door tinkled once more. Xander turned back to see who had entered, then promptly did a not-so-subtle double take. Standing there was a silver haired older woman wearing a fully stuffed vulture on her head.

It was actually stuffed really well; he had spent some time in his Uncle Rory's taxidermy shop, so he recognized good craftsmanship when he saw it.

"Come along, Neville, come along," she snapped. A fair haired boy around his age followed her into the store. He was a little on the chubby side, and had a face that seemed to be perpetually stuck in adolescence. He looked at his grandmother in exasperation, muttering, "Yes, Gran," in a manner that suggested that wasn't the first time he'd said it.

"You'd think you'd show a little more appreciation in getting a new wand," she said in a disapproving tone. "When I took your father to get his first wand, he could barely control his excitement. Of course he stood there like a proper young man, waiting his turn; but the excitement was there nonetheless."

"I'm excited Gran," the boy said in a monotone voice.

"I should hope so." She then turned her gaze on Xander, giving him a quick once over.

"Is there something I can help you with young man?" she bit out.

He got caught in a staring contest with the bird. He ripped his eyes away, stuttering for a few moments.

"No ma'am; sorry ma'am; just enjoying the scenery." He closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself.

'Gran' stared at him, and then simply 'hmmphed.' Xander quickly turned back to the counter, now very eager to get back to his wand search. He did notice the boy laughing at his predicament, but it seemed to be more of a 'brothers-in-arms' type laugh than anything mean.

Mr. Ollivander picked that time to emerge from the back of the aisle. Upon seeing the two new visitors, he smiled in greeting.

"Ah, Augusta, Mr. Longbottom; I shall be with you momentarily." He turned his attention back to Xander, sliding another wand box in front of him. "Now, give this one a try."

Xander breathed deeply, getting ready for yet another failed wand experiment. As soon as his fingers touched the wood, however, he knew this one was different. He could feel energy flowing through the wand, slowly coiling its way up his arm. It was almost like continuous pins and needles. It wasn't unpleasant or scary, though; on the contrary, it felt almost natural.

"Hawthorn, twelve and three quarter inches, a hair from a particularly large and powerful female unicorn; surprisingly swishy, used well for charms."

Xander stared at the wand in wonder. He took in every detail; the rich, light brown color with vertical orange stripes, the perfect weight and dimensions. The wood itself was like Penelope's wand; smooth and straight, polished to an incredibly high sheen. Without thinking, he flicked his wrist, causing the tip to pulse electric blue, and creating a gentle wind that swept through the room.

He had found his wand.

"There we are," Ollivander said. "I'm upset I didn't see it earlier. Hawthorn was the only choice possible for," he paused, looking at Xander slyly, "people with your history."

"People with my history?" Not that he was really paying attention. He was too busy staring at his wand from every angle.

He looked at Xander intently for a few moments before answering. "The wood of the Hawthorn tree is ideal for stakes."

Xander's head shot up. He looked hard at Ollivander, but the old man simply reverted back to his enigmatic smile.

"Now, I mentioned that all your finances have been taken care of." He spoke with an odd look in his eye. "I wish you good luck over the next year, Mr. Harris. We all have to find our place in this world; where we come from, what we're made of. I hope you have an easier time than most."

His thoughts were foggy and thick. Was Ollivander actually a mind reader? Was that even possible? The man himself wasn't giving any answers, and seemed to want to get to the old woman and her grandson.

"Thanks," Xander muttered. He gave the boy a nod on his way out, and heard his grandmother mention something about hawthorn being bad luck as he shut the door behind him. Like superstition was gonna stop him now; he had much more important things to do.

It took him less than five minutes to weave in and out of the crowds and make his way back toward the Leaky Cauldron. He shot through the brick wall just before it closed behind a family of four. He virtually floated into the main room, his adrenaline making his legs feel lighter than air.

Tom was standing behind the counter, wiping down the same spot as before. "You need any lunch? We got a stew in back that's not terrible."

Xander clenched his wand and gazed longingly up the stairs. He was so close.

"Well, as much as that ringing endorsement sounds oh so tasty, I think I'm just gonna head up to my room," he said.

Tom grunted and went back to wiping.

Xander took the steps two at a time, throwing his door open like a madman. He would never again make fun of people who used the phrase, "I'm so excited, I could burst." If he didn't do some magic in the next thirty seconds, they may be cleaning up a Xander-sized puddle from the floor.

He frantically searched through the textbooks Penelope gave him. Yesterday he had put them all on the desk in an orderly fashion, but now was flinging them on the floor. Near the bottom of the stack, he found his prize; "The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One".

Shaky fingers swiped through the pages. Willow, in all her infinite wisdom, had known he'd go hog wild once he had his wand in hand. That's why they went through his books together and labeled the easiest spells they could find.

There! There was one they'd bookmarked; _'Lumos'_.

"You can do this, Xander. How hard can it be?" he mumbled out loud.

The mirror felt a need to answer. "That's what I said earlier; how hard could it be to run a comb through that hair of yours? You'd be so handsome and debonair if you'd just -"

"Not now Ms. Judgmental Mirror, I'm kinda busy." According to the diagram, the spell itself didn't look too hard; just a simple swish, and the incantation '_lumos'_.

If he did it right, his wand tip should glow like a tor -err, flashlight. Wow. Less than twenty four hours, and his vocab was already shifting.

"Let there be light."

He took a calming breath that calmed absolutely nothing, and held his wand loosely out in front of him.

"_Lumos_!" he said loudly, swishing the wand as indicated.

After a second, the wand tip bloomed lightly. He'd seen matches that gave off more glow. Still, feverish excitement rolled through him. He'd done it! Abra-frickin'-cadabra!

He did the _'lumos'_ spell once more, getting an even brighter glow this time. Granted, if he got trapped in a mine shaft, the light from his wand wouldn't let him see six inches in front of his face. But for a first attempt, he was pretty damn proud.

He started pouring through the book once more, almost ripping the pages he turned them so fast. He found _'alohomora,'_ which was a spell for opening most locks. It was a bit more complicated than _'lumos,'_ but still doable.

He shut the door to his room and locked it, checking the book multiple times for the correct wand movement. Willow had already helped him the correct pronunciation, which was kind of a big deal in casting.

"_Alohomora_!" he yelled. The key in the lock should have turned to the 'unlock' position. All it did was sit there, being very unsporting.

He frowned and checked the book again. It felt like he did the right wand movement, but did he really know? Not like he had anyone he could call and ask for pointers.

He tried once more, settling himself in and concentrating. "_Aloho_ – gah!"

He was interrupted by a hairy spider dropping from the ceiling right onto his hand.

He scrambled back onto the bed. That thing was like a softball with legs! Was it some kind of 'steroid-ed up' magical version of a creepy crawly?

He calmed down enough to see the spider crawl on top of the dresser. _Ick_, he thought; around all his personal items. It looked liked he'd need to include a new deodorant on his list of stuff to buy tomorrow.

"A can of 'Raid' is too good for you, Cujo," he muttered venomously. He looked through the book one more time, half keeping an eye on the intruder.

His eyes lit up in malicious glee. "Ah, here we go." The spell he found wasn't exactly what he wanted, but it'd get the job done. It was more complicated than the other two, but the indignity of yelping like a little schoolgirl gave him more than enough confidence to get it done.

"Sorry ole' chap," he said in a truly awful British accent. "Not very sporting of me, but best to keep a stiff upper lip."

The spider stopped crawling on the dresser.

It didn't move a muscle.

Neither did he.

It was a force of wills. A Mexican Standoff.

Well, kinda.

His eyes narrowed as he pointed his wand at the fiend.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

A beautiful smile lit up his face as red light flew out of his wand, heading straight for the spider. His smile dimmed as the spider scurried out of the way, avoiding being hit by the body-binding curse. The smile completely vanished when the spell hit the mirror above the dresser and rebounded right back at him.

Before he could shout out or move, he was hit square in the chest. All at once his limbs locked up like they were made of stone and metal. He tumbled off the bed, smashing face down on the wood floor. Indescribable pain shot out from his nose, but he couldn't even move his lips to cry out in pain.

The demon spider crawled right in front of his field of vision and stopped. If spiders could taunt, it was doing a masterful job.

And for the final indignity, the mirror huffed, "Well, serves you right for attacking a defenseless animal like that."

He sighed mentally: As far as starts went, he'd had worse.

An hour later, Xander was knee deep in rubbing his finger over a worn groove in the bar top. He was soooo bored. Would it kill the wizards to have a TV anywhere?

"How's the nose?" Tom asked.

Xander reached up, giving it a slight touch. He hissed at the contact.

"It's fine; can't feel a thing."

Tom smirked and walked off to bus one of the table tops. Not that he needed to; since Xander came down, there'd been no more than six people eating.

Tom slid back behind the counter. "You're just lucky I came to check on ya' when I did. What were you thinkin' doing the body-bindin' curse in your room?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to see what the 'Tin Man' felt like. Surprisingly it wasn't great."

Tom kept rubbing a glass, but didn't say a word.

Xander rolled his eyes. "The 'Tin Man' was a character from -"

"The "Wizard of Oz." Yeah, I know it."

"Oh," Xander said in surprise. "It's just, you didn't say anything."

"Wasn't very funny, wazzit?" Tom said.

"Huh. Guess not."

Xander used the break in conversation to take a good look at his surroundings. The Leaky Cauldron wasn't exactly what one would call 'fine dining,' but it had it's own sort of charm. If a travel show was doing an episode on magical eateries in England, he could picture them mentioning it as a place for an authentic English wizarding experience.

"You want anymore?" Tom asked, pointing toward his empty mug.

Xander shook his head clear. "Yeah," he held out his mug, "that stuffs pretty good. What do you call it again?"

"Butterbeer," Tom said as he filled it up under the tap.

Xander took a sip once Tom handed it back. "Umm, tasty," he said, smacking his lips. "It's like liquid candy with a kick."

Tom went back to wiping the already clean mugs. Every time he looked up at the empty dining room, his face resembled a wounded puppy.

"So," Xander started, wrapping his hands around his frosty mug. Making smalltalk was the last thing on his mind, but felt like it was his obligation to break up the incredibly awkward silence. Truth was, all he really wanted to do was get some sleep after his day of shopping and not moving for an hour.

"This Hagrid guy's supposed to pick me up and take me around Diagon Alley tomorrow. What's his story?"

Tom started refilling the condiments for the third time. "Hagrid? He works at Hogwarts. Professor for the Care of Magical Creatures. Great bloke, but loves his animals a little too much, if you know what I mean."

Tom gave Xander a knowing nod and look, not that Xander knew what he was supposed to know. Or something like that.

Tom continued. "Been comin' in here for a long time. You couldn't have anyone better to show you around."

He took another sip of his drink, enjoying the flavor as it ran down his throat. This stuff actually was pretty good. He'd have to remember to take some back for Willow and Buffy. It had enough sugar to put Kool-Aid to shame, which was something he could get behind.

Great. Another awkward silence. You'd think Tom would be chatty with his only bar patron. "So, how will I recognize him?" Xander asked. Tom stopped moving, and looked at Xander with his head cocked to the side.

Xander kept talking when it became obvious Tom was staying quiet. "It's just, I'm supposed to meet him here tomorrow at ten a.m., but I have no idea how to know it's him. I feel like he should be wearing a red rose on his lapel."

Tom's yellow, cracked teeth emerged from behind his lips as he guffawed. "Don't think that will be a problem, lad. Believe me, you'll know Hagrid when you see him."

Before he could ask him what he meant, two pops announced the arrival of a pair of wizards. Xander goggled as they appeared out of thin air: it was teleportation!

"Boys!" Tom said, his face lightening up for the first time that evening. "It's been awhile!"

The two men were obviously identical twins, unless they had somehow magically duplicated themselves. They were relatively short, stocky redheads with a mirthful air around them. They also happened to wear the tackiest outfits in history; twin electric purple, leathery suits with yellow shirts and white ties with moving polka dots. It physically hurt Xander's eyes to look at them.

"Tom, you old sod," said the one on the right as he took a seat a few chairs down from Xander, "you didn't have to go and clear the place out for me and Georgie."

He had a feeling Tom would have shot a curse at anyone else that said that, but instead he threw his head back and laughed. Xander could understand why; the twins just had those kinds of faces – or face, in this case.

"Can I get you boys a plate?" Tom asked.

The one named Georgie leaned back in his chair and answered. "Nah, not tonight Tom; we just stopped by for a quick pint."

"Gotta go back and restock the shelves," the other twin said. "We'd leave Verity to do it, but last time she ended up mixing boomslang with vrot weed; sprouted a third leg, she did."

"Don't know why she fussed so much," Georgie said, a smile on his face, "told her I've been walking around with mine for the last eighteen years; never had a problem."

Xander snorted into his mug while the other three exploded in laughter.

Tom started pouring their drinks from the tap. "So, been busy, have ya?" Xander noticed the question was asked a little too nonchalantly. The twins must have picked up on it too, because they exchanged a look before answering.

"Eh, we're doing alright," said the one without a name. At Tom's dubious look, he hastily added, "but not as good as last year. Times are tough all around, yeah?"

"Don't I know it," Tom said crossly. He slammed a drawer shut, startling the twins and Xander. "Ever since poor Fortescue." He trailed off without finishing, but the twins seemed to know exactly what he meant.

"Death Eaters in Diagon Alley," Georgie muttered, shaking his head.

Death Eater? What the hell was a Death Eater? Were they tied in with what Penelope mentioned? Should he butt into their conversation and ask them what they meant? It may be rude, but this sounded like the kind of thing that needed a few more details.

And really, could there be a more ominous name than Death Eaters? Maybe Baby Punchers.

Xander sat up straight in his chair. Baby Punchers? Where the hell did that come from? God, his mind needed a washing.

"Did you see it happen?" Tom asked the twins.

The other twin took a swig of beer. "Nah, too early in the morn," he said. "Sure heard it though."

Tom nodded sagely. "That's right, 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' is just down the road from Fortescue. I forgot about that."

"Weasley?"

Mentally Xander cringed. He shrunk in his seat as all three heads turned to him. If it wouldn't have looked so lame, he would have slapped his hand over his mouth.

As a not-so-planned byproduct, the tension on the last few moments evaporated. Georgie slowly smiled toward Xander.

"Hark, what do I hear Fred? A young man with no idea of who we are and the fantastic products we sell."

"Don't look at me, brother-o-mine; you're supposed to be the ad genius in the family."

"This here's Xander Harris," Tom said, making the introductions. "He's from the States."

Fred stood up and made his way over to Xander's chair. "Well then, we must follow the rules of a proper introduction." He stuck his hand out. "Fred Weasley, and this is my brother George; we're purveyors of all the juicy, wonderful mischief and gags found at 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.'"

Xander reached for the outstretched hand, earning himself an enthusiastic pump. "Xander Harris."

"So Xander Harris from the States, what do you think of our fair country?" asked George.

Xander took a second before answering. "Well, I've seen more rain in the last two days in England then I've seen in the last two years, but I'm also a big fan of cliches, so I don't mind so much."

"Here here," Fred saluted with a tip of his mug. "Me and George can't get enough of 'em ourselves."

Without asking, Tom topped off his butterbeer. He took a long pull, savoring the flavor once more.

"You here for business or pleasure?" Fred asked.

He took a big, almost comical gulp of his drink. He had to hold back from coughing all over the bar. "Umm, neither actually; I'm going to school."

At their twin looks of confusion, Tom said, "He's going to Hogwarts for the year."

Being the focus wasn't particularly his favorite thing, and the twins' looks of shock made him hot under the collar. Tom, being the fantastic host he was, just smiled at his discomfort.

"You're joking," George said. "I've never heard of a Yank -"

"- going to Hogwarts," Fred finished.

Xander's fingers rubbed back and forth over the hair just above his neck. "As far as I know, I'm the first."

Fred barked out a laugh. "Do you believe it George? We're standing next to a one of a kind; a living legend if you will."

"I don't believe it Fred," George said. He turned in his chair, giving Xander his full attention. "Is this another exchange program or something?"

Xander looked intently at the bottom of his drink. He'd worried about this moment. Based on the reaction the American schools had when finding out he lived on a Hellmouth, he feared all people would feel the same way.

It was probably better to try out the truth on this group, though. If they did freak, he would know to keep it to himself from now on. Plus he wouldn't have to worry about seeing them again.

"No, I've never gone to magic school before; in fact, I just found out I was magical."

Based on the way their mouths were set to move, he continued before they started talking. "I've lived on a Hellmouth my whole life. Hogwarts was the only school that would accept me this late."

Whatever reaction he was expecting, confusion wasn't one of them. "Hellmouth, Hellmouth, Hellmouth," Fred muttered, tapping finger to chin. "Where have I heard that before?"

"I think I remember," George said. "It's that dark, dank, dangerous spot where all the ickle nasties like to meet up and do their evil deeds, am I right?"

"More or less."

"Wait," Fred said, his mouth set in a grim line. It was odd to see a serious expression on the friendly face, and he didn't like the looks of it.

Could he make it out of the room before they started firing off spells?

Suddenly, Fred's face split into a grin. "You spent all your life living in Snape's dungeon?"

He had no idea who Snape was, but the other two couldn't stop laughing.

"I'd rather get trapped in a closet with Umbridge!" George said.

Fred made retching sounds at the notion, which caused Tom to cackle even harder. "Oi! You're just lucky I haven't eaten yet!" Fred yelled out.

As the laughing died down, Xander took a much needed easy breath. Now that that was out of the way...

"So I gotta ask; what's a wheeze?"

George brought his hand to head in the most overly dramatic way possible. "What's a wheeze, he asks? My poor friend, don't they teach you anything in that backwards country of yours?"

In unison the twins started shaking their heads side to side, coupled with the same hangdog expression. Xander never knew something could be so hilarious, and yet creepy at the same time.

"A wheeze is a joke, a gag, a humorous way to get your point across, no matter the situation" Fred said. "And they just happen to be one of our specialties."

"Oh, so you own a joke shop." That was kind of impressive; they seemed pretty young to be running their own store.

George clucked his tongue. "Just own a joke shop," he mocked. "Are the pyramids just a building? Are the Wyrd Sisters just a band? Are the Slytherins just a couple of foul gits? Huh?"

He had no clue what they were talking about, but that didn't seem to be the point. "Umm, no?" Xander asked.

"Course not!" Fred said.

With a flourish and a spin, George swooped into the middle of the dining room and pulled out his wand.

"We deal in the extra-ordinary, the fantas-moriphic, and the super-imaginical!" He punctuated every word with a sweep of his wand, producing glorious colors and designs. Xander watched transfixed as those shapes turned into bright fireworks, coalescing into a magnificent dragon, followed by a huge castle with knights on horses. "Any number of spells and products to delight every one of your senses."

"Oi! You two, not in the bar!" said Tom, pointing a gnarled finger.

Fred pretended not to hear as he joined his brother. "Or perhaps something slightly more mundane is your speed." He pulled out an ordinary deck of cards that inexplicably shuffled itself; and with a roguish grin, threw his wand in the air, catching a rubber chicken on the way down.

He reached into his pocket and tossed two pieces of something at Xander.

"A puking pastille and a nosebleed nougat, two equally successful, if not slightly disgusting, solutions to the problem of forgetting about an exam! Just don't lose the antidote; otherwise you're bent."

"Or maybe," George said, his mouth stretching into a salacious grin, "there's a particular bird you fancy that doesn't give you the time of day. She likes some other bloke, one of those chiseled handsome types that turns dragon dung into emeralds with just a glance."

Xander felt his face heat up. God it must be beat red. Even in England, crushing on Buffy was causing him untold embarrassment.

George winked at him and continued. "Not to worry! We supply you with all the best in love potions: guaranteed to make you the most desirable man on the planet for at least two hours." He cocked his head to the side. "Oh, and of course dependent on consumption amount, body weight of the subject, and just how ugly you may be, obviously." George fired a red light dart into the wall, which exploded in a million sparkles.

"I'm not kidding you two!" Tom yelled once more.

"So you see," Fred began, "'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' is not just a mere joke shop..."

"It's the place where dreams are made!" the twins said as one, arms outstretched and possessing used car salesman smiles.

Xander ogled the pair, stunned at the display. "Soooo, not just a joke shop?"

The twins deflated at the same exact time, in the same exact manner; even their hair seemed to wilt.

"No mate," Fred bit out, a forced smile on his face, "not just a joke shop."

"Okay, seriously?" He was bursting as the twins slid back into their chairs. "Greatest thing I've seen since Michael Jackson 'moonwalked' right through Motown."

And why shouldn't he burst? That thirty second display was the whole shebang of everything he hoped for from the wizarding world. It was fun, it was impressive, it was amazing, it was powerful; in a nutshell, it was perfect.

And he wanted to learn it.

Both brothers perked up at the compliment.

"I mean, I totally get why Penelope said to never try your stuff." He scrunched his nose. "Puking what's it called? Thanks, but I'll pass. If it does what I think it does, I've already taken a vow of vomit abstinence."

"Penelope?" George asked.

"Penelope Clearwater; she was the one who told me this whole crazy magic story."

George turned toward his brother. "Fred, wasn't she the one -,"

"- who went out with," Fred stopped, a dark look skipping over his features, "our brother."

"Cor', that's right." George rubbed his eyes. For just a moment, he looked like he had the world on his shoulders. "Haven't heard that name in years. Wonder if she's still seeing that big headed lout?"

"That had to be a fun way to find out about magic," Fred said to Xander. "Did she quiz you on 'Great Goblin Bankers' of the last five hundred years?' Or maybe she had you do lines of, 'I promise to be a good little boy and study my arse off and never ever have any fun.'"

Xander chuckled. "She started off a little too battleaxe-ish for me, but she loosened up at the end. No complaints"

"Definitely not still dating Percy, then," George muttered.

"She was actually pretty great. She gave me some spellbooks and stuff to study: and wow, I can't believe that sentence just left my mouth." Xander shook his head. "Anyway, I still have to get the rest of my stuff tomorrow, and then it's off to Hogwarts the next day."

"Why so soon?" Fred asked.

"I meet with all the teachers, they tell me how far behind I am compared to everyone else, and I guess assign Nazi-level amounts of reading and homework; you know, my usual school experience."

It was obviously more complicated than that. Penelope had stressed how incredibly unique his situation was. Hogwarts wasn't in the practice of accepting foreign students who were years behind in their studies, not to mention tailoring specific lesson plans for said student. Only Dumbledore's insistence that he learn the tools necessary to assist the Slayer allowed this exchange to happen.

Fred picked up his mug, to which George quickly followed. "To Xander Harris, may you enjoy the many wonders of Hogwarts, not least of which are the birds in short skirts; and may you cause as much trouble and mayhem as possible, especially to Snape and Filch, the gits. But most importantly, may you -"

"- somehow live to tell the tale," George said.

"Cheers!" they both said, chugging the rest of their beers.

Xander half-heartedly raised his glass to match. "Ha ha, tease the new guy about school and how dangerous it is. Hilarious."

The twins smirked at him and shrugged their shoulders.

"Why, is Hogwarts dangerous or something?" Xander asked in alarm.

Fred and George exchanged a look. "Wellll," George said, letting the word hang, "that depends: have you fought a mountain troll before?"

Before having a full blown panic attack, Xander saw the twins both twitch in effort to hold back laughter. They were gonna tease him about surviving high school? Hello, Hellmouth! Hogwarts might be a strange place, but it had nothing on Sunnydale. Time to let some of his demon freak flag fly.

"No, not a troll; I did have a substitute teacher who turned into a giant praying mantis and tried to lay eggs in my chest, though."

He let their shocked expressions soak in for a moment. He was only kind of ashamed to admit it made him feel good. "Oh, and there was also the time a couple of students got possessed by the spirit of a hyena and ate our principal; which not only was a downer for him, but led to Snyder taking over. Facing a mountain troll is a lot less of a headache."

Fred's mug plopped onto the bar top, and Tom and George weren't too far behind. Xander made sure to look straight ahead and drink his drink without a care in the world. Serves them right, thinking he was some newbie to be trifled with.

"That's the greatest thing I've ever heard!"

And apparently his hidden depths would stay that way, based on how the other three people in the bar were laughing to the point of turning purple.

Fred stood up and tossed his arm over Xander's shoulder. "That's fantastic, mate! You should be writing for 'The Quibbler'!"

"Make sure you stop in tomorrow when you're out with Hagrid; we'll load you up with so many goodies Filch'll have a heart attack," George said.

"I don't think I want to start off at my new school with teachers already hating me," Xander said warily. "I usually get to enjoy a solid two weeks before that happens."

Fred waved him off. "Pffft, what's life without a little mischief?"

"Less death-y?"

"Quit corruptin' the boy you two," Tom said.

Fred and George both pointed at themselves with a "Who, me?" expression on their faces. They pulled it off way too quickly and way too successfully to not have a lot of practice.

A few hours later Xander finally strolled into his room with a hop in his step. Fred and George had stayed and regaled him with stories from Hogwarts and some of the pranks they played. If half of what they said was the true, then those two deserved their own sitcom. At the very least, he was going to write Willow and tell her some of their suggestions; any day where you could make your teachers tongue weigh two tons was a day you got off without homework.

On second thought, he would tell Buffy; Willow would never allow homework to go wanting.

Coupled with his excitement for tomorrow, he was surprised at how tired he suddenly felt. His body clock must still be recovering from west coast time. He slid into bed and let relaxation take over.

It wasn't until he was seconds from sleep that he remembered the words Death Eater.

A/N: I've got some possibly bad news. My main beta (who absolutely saves every chapter from looking like utter crap), has perhaps the busiest real life ever. That means that she takes her time in beta'ing my chapters. I don't really mind since she does a great job, but it does mean that from here on out, the chapters will probably post a little slower. Chapter six may be ready for next Monday, but after that I'm not sure what will happen. Rest assured that I have several chapters finished and awaiting beta'ing, and I am currently still plugging away at the story.

To everyone who has sent me such great reviews, I thank you, and ask that you be a little patient from here on out.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Special Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

* * *

After the late night Weasley extravaganza, Xander slouched bleary eyed out of his room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thrill of finally going to Hogwarts was just waiting to pop out and fill him with full-on gooey eagerness. Maybe after he felt like a human and got some food in him.

Man did Portkey lag suck. Hard.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned as he clomped down the stairs, wincing from the pounding headache. "I know I'm probably shootin' for the moon here Tom, but you don't have any 'Pop Tarts' do you? Or maybe some kind of cereal? Frosted Flakes? Heck, I would take sugar packets on my tongue at this – bahama mama!"

He'd removed the sleep from his eyes to see Tom speaking with 'Andre the Giant's' big brother. The guy was a monster! Nine feet tall if he was an inch! Everything around him looked like a miniature version of real life.

He seemed to know Tom, as he sat on a bar stool – which looked like an ottoman to his big body – and chatted up the barkeeper. It could be a ruse though; he might be buttering up Tom before eating him. Didn't giants do that kind of thing?

He couldn't get a good look at the guys face, covered as it was in a thick mop of black hair and beard, both of which looked like the after effects of sticking a finger in a socket.

Tom directed a toothy grin Xander's way. "Ah, just in time young lad. This is Hagrid; Hagrid, this is Xander Harris, the American Muggleborn."

He felt his body jerk when he heard the name. This is the guy that's showing him around today?

Hagrid eased himself off the barstool, which groaned in relief. "Nice ter meet ya'," he said while extending his bear sized hand, "Me names Hagrid, but yeh already knew that."

"Err, hello Mr. Hagrid, how are you?" Xander winced as he flexed his slightly mangled hand. Man did Hagrid have a grip.

To his surprise, Hagrid tipped his head back and roared in laughter. "Just Hagrid."

Xander laughed nervously alongside Hagrid and Tom, coming this close to saying, "Like Cher?", and really trying to lighten the mood. He had a feeling this crowd might not catch his drift.

Hagrid asked. "Are yeh packed and ready ter go after we get yer supplies?"

"Yeah, didn't really take anything out of my suitcase to begin with."

"That was probably wise," Hagrid said.

Xander added "And I was getting tired of the mirror saying my shirts looked like an 'unfortunate mistake.' I get enough critics who actually have a body to go along with the attitude. I wasn't even going to give her a chance to rip my pants – well, you know what I mean."

Hagrid roared in laughter again, but Tom was more into the scowling thing. "Ruddy mirror," he said, "takin' the piss out of my customers."

"Gives the place a bit o' character, I say," Hagrid said, wiping his eyes.

"Bah." Tom waved his arms in disgust. "I been meanin' to replace it, but I ain't got the time."

Xander wasn't aware that taking care of one tenant and three bar patrons took up an entire day; but then again, he was the guy that took up to six weeks to put clean sheets on his bed.

"Well," Hagrid said, drawing himself up, "we should get movin'; we got ter get yeh to Hogwarts today."

Hagrid winked his coal black eye and patted him on the shoulder, which was only slightly less painful then getting hit by a cinder block.

"We'll come back here and Floo ter Hogsmeade," Hagrid said. He then started studying the ground, shuffling his feet together. "Most students take the train on their firs' day, but it's gettin' repaired sorry to say."

Wow, Hagrid looked like he was genuinely upset that they couldn't take the train. Wasn't a train a train in any world? Heck, maybe this particular one _was _magical_, _like it was full of the Swedish Bikini Team or something.

"It's fine," Xander said, "I'm not much of a train guy; I'd like to give the queasy confines of mojo transportation another shot."

Hagrid smiled blankly at him. Shocker.

"Glad to hear it. Firs', every wizard needs his wand. We'll stop by Ollivanders; tis' no finer wand maker."

"Oh," Xander said, reaching into his back pocket, "I got that covered." Setting his shoulders back, he held out his new wand to impress Hagrid.

At Hagrid's surprised and not so impressed look, he said, "Sorry, I know I should have waited, but let's be honest here; self control? So not my strong suit. Let's just count ourselves lucky I don't have any serious money on me, otherwise we might be knee deep in owl droppings."

"Who took yeh?" Hagrid asked in an oddly casual tone.

"Just by my lonesome; don't worry, I made sure to look both ways before crossing the street. Why does it matter?"

"Did yeh talk to anyone? Did yeh see anyone starin' at yeh?" Hagrid's enormous hands shook with little tremors.

Like a light switch being flicked on, some of the conversation between the twins and Tom started coming back to Xander.

"No, you'll be happy to know everyone I met was really rude and totally unhelpful. Once again, why does it matter?"

To Xander's surprise, Hagrid rounded on Tom like a black bear cornering a bald, toothless otter. "Yeh weren't supposed ter let him go to out on his own! Do yeh got rocks rollin' round in yer head?"

"He's a grown boy he is," Tom said coolly, "I reckon he's old enough to make his own decisions."

"He innit of age!" Hagrid roared. "He don't know how to use a wand!"

"What's a Death Eater?" Xander blurted out of left field.

That brought both men up short. They slowly turned back toward Xander, twin smiles on their faces.

If you squinted just right and turned your head to the side, they almost looked real.

"Never yeh mind," Hagrid said, in a falsely cheery voice, "it's nothin' ter worry yerself about."

Hagrid and Tom were doing their best to play off that 'everything is allllllright' vibe; he certainly wasn't buying it. They were hiding something; frankly the whole Wizarding world was hiding something, and he was getting real tired of everyone treating him like a sap.

"That's it!" Xander yelled out. "My leap of faith on this whole wizard thing might qualify me for the U.S. Olympic team, but it stops now!"

He started to pace, ticking off points on his fingers. "I'm tired from my getting my ass kicked traveling here, the first successful spell I ever did left me trapped like a wax statue, and I'm pretty sure I've already gained five pounds eating English cooking."

He grabbed his stomach. "Would it kill you to have some vegetables, or something low fat? I'm no wacky 'veggie only' kind of guy, but even I think meat at all three courses is too much."

"But that's not really important," he said, waving it off. "The important thing is I just left the Hellmouth, which was full of danger and death, with a healthy dash of evil, to a place that looks like a loud yawn would get people running for the hills. So what that means is I'm not moving until someone tells me, err," he stumbled and cringed, "what no one has been telling me."

The two exchanged glances; Hagrid wringing his hands together, and Tom scrubbing an invisible spot. If they thought they could wait him out, they were sadly mistaken. He crossed his arms over his chest, raised his eyebrows, and got ready for the long haul.

Luckily Tom was the first to crack. "Yer right; there are some things you haven't been told."

On the rare occasion it happened, sometimes he hated being right.

"You see, we weren't supposed to say nothin' till yeh talked to Dumbledore," Hagrid said.

"Why Principal Dumbledore? What's going on?"

"He's right in the thick o' it, bein' head of the -" Whatever Hagrid was going to say, his 'hand caught in the cookie jar' face ensured he was keeping it to himself.

"It ain't all that bad," Tom continued, "but you really should hear it from the headmaster; he'll answer your questions."

He kept his arms crossed, looking them both in the eye. "Fine," Xander said eventually. It was like watching a weight being lifted from Hagrid's shoulders.

Xander continued, "But _Headmaster _Dumbledore tells me everything, right? Otherwise I don't care how much I throw up on the return trip, I'm out of there."

"No doubt 'bout it," Hagrid said.

Xander took a deep breath, and clapped his hands together. "Well then what are we waiting for?"

Apparently his leaps of faith hadn't come anywhere close to ending.

A few hours later found Xander wandering the streets of Diagon Alley, his own personal NBA Center as his exuberant body guard.

Hagrid had surprisingly been a lot of fun to talk to. He was easygoing and didn't look down on him when Xander sounded like a jerk talking about magic he didn't understand. Xander was right in thinking of him like a bear, but he was much more teddy than black. He probably didn't have a mean bone in his enormous body.

Hagrid did his best to fill him in on some of the things he could expect in the upcoming school year. Charms and Transfiguration sounded pretty cool, while Care of Magical Creatures sounded like a lawsuit waiting to happen, regardless of how passionate Hagrid was about it. Anyway, he was glad for the fresh perspective; sometimes those books Penny lent him were a little dry, and made Hogwarts sound overly confusing.

"So, anything else I need?" Xander asked.

"Err," Hagrid said, scratching the side of his face, "nope, I think that's everythin'."

Xander let out a long puff of air. "Thank god; my feet are killing me, and I even went for the sensible heel this time," he joked. "I don't know how Buffy does her marathon shopping trips: I'm about five minutes from curling up in the fetal position and sucking my thumb."

First there was 'Flourish and Blotts' for his textbooks. It was immense, and full of a lot of other books that sailed right over his head. If you gave Willow and Giles a couple cans of food and a bucket though, they could have lived there for the entire summer.

Then there was 'Scribbulus Everchanging Inks' for his ink and quill needs, because apparently wizards had never heard of a ballpoint pen; 'Lorrywho and McMurty's Secondhand Shop', where he got a used cauldron, trunk, and scales.

Hagrid had to explain the scales were needed for potions, since the only kids Xander knew in high school that used them had an 'illegal side business' that required serious measurement.

He tried to go to 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' and say hi to the twins, but that was the one shop so crowded he didn't have time to wait in line. Plus he had a feeling he would end up being their product tester at school, and he refused to lower himself to a prop comic.

All in all, he hit about a dozen other stops which all kind of blended together into a menagerie of boredom and tooth drilling pain.

The real revelation of the day was finding out he needed a uniform to go along with his robes. He probably should have been upset at the attack on his 'First Amendment Rights', but all it did was take the guess work out of patching together an outfit each day.

Though he was sure that somewhere Cordelia Chase was weeping tears of drab grays and fashion uniformity.

Seeing to the fact that he had about two hundred dollars to his name, most of the shops gave him his items for an incredibly reduced price. That meant his supplies weren't exactly 'fresh out of the box'. You haven't lived until you've bought fourth hand robes, which had stains and markings he couldn't even begin to guess at. He saw an advertisement for self ironing robes at one of the nicer stores; he was lucky if his didn't come with lice.

He just hoped that Hogwarts was unlike every school in the U.S. that judged people on how well they dressed and how much money you had.

He wasn't holding his breath.

"We should be goin' back ter the Cauldron," Hagrid said.

They both made a right at the corner, making sure not to drop any of Xander's possessions under their arms. Not that getting a few scraps and dings on them would matter; they'd just blend in with all the others.

"That's strange," Hagrid muttered while slowing down.

"Huh? What's that?" Xander tried to move the boxes around his arms since they were stacked up to his nose.

Hagrid wasn't paying attention, instead making his way over to a blacked out storefront. "I ain' ever seen Ollivanders closed during the day."

With a start, he realized they were standing in front of the store where he had bought his wand. He walked up alongside Hagrid and peeked inside. It looked very much the same as yesterday; old, drab and bare. Hagrid was right though; there were no lights on, and no sign of Mr. Ollivander.

"What does that mean?" he asked Hagrid.

Hagrid didn't answer immediately. "Probably takin' a vacation. Yeah, that's it," he said, more to himself than Xander.

And just like that, he was back to being brighter than sunshine. "Well, no use waitin' 'round here, seein' as you already got yer wand." He none too gently grabbed Xander's arm and directed him down the street.

They arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron to find Tom sweeping the floors. He was thrilled to drop the broom and shrink everything down for Xander to fit in his old, battered, brown and orange trunk.

"When Hagrid comes back down with your case, put it and your new trunk in the fireplace," Tom said.

Xander looked at him like a madman. "I know they're not the best quality, but you don't need to light them on fire."

Tom raised his head from behind the bar where it was buried. "We ain't gonna light it on fire. We're gonna send it to Hogwarts through the Floo network, same as you and Hagrid will be doin'."

"Oh yeah, right; I totally forgot about Flooing. Can't wait to do it," he deadpanned.

At that moment Hagrid lumbered down the stairs, carrying Xander's suitcase which looked like a purse in his hands.

"Here we go," Hagrid said, as he grabbed Xander's trunk, placing both in the fireplace.

Tom stood in front of the fireplace, loudly said, "Hogwarts!" and threw in a handful of powder. Instantly, green flames shot up from the unlit fireplace, engulfing the two cases, both of which promptly disappeared. Weirdly enough Xander felt no heat from the flash fire.

Tom turned back to him with a gummy grin. "See, couldn't be easier!"

"I should just get that tattooed on my forehead," Xander muttered.

He would never again mock Sunnydale Public Transportation.

A few minutes later Xander crashed out of a fireplace, kicking up enough soot to blackout a stadium. He was coughing up a lung as two enormous hands grabbed him under his arms and lifted him up with ease.

"Easy there, easy there. Always tough the firs' time." Hagrid patted him on the back, but all that helped was to herniate one of his discs.

"Does it always feel like you're the lone sock in a washing machine's spin cycle?" Xander coughed.

When he could breath again, Xander opened his eyes to find himself in a large open room with about a dozen benches.

"Where are we?" he croaked. His eyes started burning from dust, and no amount of scrubbing was relieving the pain.

"We're at Hogsmeade Station; 'tis where the students end up on the firs' day. Since yeh couldn't take it, Dumbledore figured yeh should at leas' ride the boats in, like the firs' years."

"Are they magical boats?"

"They paddle themselves." Hagrid took out a large oily, red rag out of his coat pocket, and handed it to Xander. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with it; it was more filthy than any soot on his face.

"That's it? I think I can handle that," Xander said.

Eventually they made the half mile trek down the path and to the edge of a lake, or so Hagrid told him. He climbed into one of about a dozen or so standard wooden row boats, which looked like it could hold about six or seven children when not carrying a giant human.

Hagrid eased into the back row, gave the boat a rap on it's side, and settled in. In a few seconds, the boat started moving by it's own power, cruising at a nice, sightseeing pace.

"We do this at nigh' fer the firs' years," Hagrid said conversationally, "ligh' up the castle, it's really somethin'. Course, it's no' yet sunset, but it should still be quite a sigh'."

"I'm sure," Xander muttered. The light breeze on his face was refreshing, but the lack of scenery was a little distressing: all around were leafy trees blocking any sort of long distance vision.

"Their little hearts go a pitter-patter," Hagrid laughed. "Not a year goes by one of them doesn't fidget themselves righ' into the water!"

"Oh man, do they wear life preservers or something?"

Hagrid laughed once more. "No no, the giant squid fishes them out before anything bad happens."

Xander stilled, and slowly turned toward Hagrid. "The what?"

But Hagrid ignored the question. "Maybe if yer lucky, you'll see him sunnin' himself on the surface of the lake. Beautiful creature." Hagrid looked over and around Xander, like he expected the squid to make an appearance any moment.

"So," Xander began a minute or two later, "how long is this trip going to take? Because while the trees in Scotland are sure pretty to look at, I was looking for something with a little more stone."

"As soon as we turn tha' bend," Hagrid said, pointing out the bend to the right about fifty feet away, "yeh'll see the castle and all the grounds."

"Excellent. So, any recommendations on what I should do first? I was thinking of just wandering the castle; or maybe go flying! Yeah, that sounds good."

Xander threw up his hands. "But really, broomsticks? Couldn't you guys think of something a little cooler to fly? Like, I don't know, a miniature 'Starship Enterprise' or something? I mean, you might as well make it a vacuum cleaner, but then you're getting into Samantha Stevens territory. I tell you what, if you're...going...to..."

Turning the bend, the rest of his sentence died before leaving his lips. Nestled on a cliff carved straight from the Earth and touching the clouds was Hogwarts, and it was magnificent. The sheer size of the castle and grounds took his breath away: It could have held King Arthur's court, Robin Hood's Merry Men, and Aragorn's subjects all under one roof.

The architecture was no less wondrous. While looking like a stone castle out of a storybook, it also had towers, sections, and battlements in places that gave physics and gravity a thumb to the nose.

This was where he was spending the next year of his life? Yeah, he could totally work with this.

"Puts a lump in yer throat, don' it?" Hagrid was smiling at him, obviously aware of what was running through Xander's head.

"It's just," Xander struggled for the next words, "wow."

The boat wobbled as Hagrid leaned closer, a kindly – if mammoth – smile on his face.

"Wait till ya see the inside."

The boat eased up to the dock at the base of the cliff. Xander exited on wobbly legs; whether from the cruise or excitement, he wasn't sure. They headed up the road to the castle, where he kept up perfectly fine with Hagrid's massive steps; it wasn't difficult when you had twelve gallons of adrenaline pumping through your body.

They arrived at the top of the cliff, and started on the path that went around the castle. Being closer brought a whole new level of appreciation to the scope of it all. The castle had to be at least seven stories high, and the grounds around it had more grass and open land than anything in Sunnydale, outside of Fairmonts Golf Course.

"There's me hut, over there," Hagrid said, pointing to a wooden cabin-like structure to the right of the castle and in front of the woods.

"Looks quaint."

They walked up the castle's front steps, to two incredibly large oak doors.

"Are ya ready?" Hagrid asked with his hands on the door handles.

Afraid he might squeak if he tried to say 'yes', Xander nodded instead. With a wink, Hagrid threw open the front doors, and strolled into the large entryway. There wasn't much to it; just a few staircases and a closed set of double doors. It looked like the main lobby of his high school, albeit about a thousand years older.

"Follow me," Hagrid said, starting up a staircase leading to the second floor.

They went up the first flight, making a right at the corridor. Xander did his best to etch every little part into memory, but they were moving too fast and there were simply too many details.

Doors to what he imagined were classrooms popped up every so often along the craggy stone walls. If it wasn't a door, it was a painting, Gothic window, shining suit of armor, tapestry, or some sort of statue. He had to admit, he was a little surprised that the inside of the castle was so castle-ly; not that he expected crown molding and shag carpeting or anything, but some modern amenities would be nice.

"I say Hagrid, a student at Hogwarts already?"

Hagrid stopped next to a painting on the wall of an old woman sitting in a rocking chair. Xander didn't even flinch this time at the sight of the painting talking. See, he was turning into an old pro at this magic stuff.

"This is a special case, Viola. We're off to see the headmaster," Hagrid said, resuming his walk.

Xander waved at the painting as he passed, receiving a laugh and shy wave in return. They walked up another two flights of stairs and a few more turns and corridors.

He hoped this place came with a map, because he was hopelessly lost already.

"Looks like yeh go' their interest," Hagrid said, nodding his head: various characters from the paintings were running from portrait to portrait, trying to get a better glimpse of him. He wasn't proud of it, but man was his ego getting stroked by these inanimate objects.

"I'm a hit wherever I go; a regular Fonz," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

After climbing no less than seven flights of stairs – including one staircase that had an invisible step – they turned into a dead end corridor with no door; only a gargoyle statue. "We're here," Hagrid announced.

Strangely, the statue is what Hagrid addressed next.

"Sherber' Lemon," he said.

Immediately the gargoyle leaped aside, the wall splitting with a loud groan behind it. Xander stood open mouthed as a spiral staircase emerged behind the wall.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Xander yelled out. Hidden walls? Secret passwords? Tell him 'X' marked the spot, and it'd complete the package.

Hagrid threw his head back and laughed. "Come on then, jump on and the staircase will do the rest."

"You're not coming?" Xander asked in surprise.

"Fang will be needin' a feedin', so I best be goin'," Hagrid said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll be seein' you 'round though."

"Oh, well thanks for today." He meant it too; Hagrid was a quality guy, and those were rare to find.

Hagrid nodded, waved, and turned and walked away.

With trepidation, Xander put his foot on the first step, and followed it up with his other. With a start, the staircase started to move on it's own, corkscrewing up. It was like the worlds classiest escalator.

It stopped in front of another oak door, with some kind of animal knocker on it. He raised his hand to knock, but before hand touched door he heard, "Enter!" come from the inside of the room.

With a deep breath, he opened the door, ready for anything on the other side. Sunlight immediately bathed his face, causing him to blink over and over again. When the color explosion faded, he found himself in a circular room, draped in rich reds and golds.

He did his best to hold back a snicker at the snoring portraits all along the walls, and shielded his eyes once more from the light, which came from a set of two story windows on the right wall, dominated by the lovely sight of a mountain range and huge stadium.

He was trying to take it all in, which was beyond daunting. With his concentration elsewhere, he quickly side stepped around a table full of silvery trinkets and gadgets he couldn't even begin to understand.

"Ah, Mr. Harris, a pleasure to meet you."

With a start, Xander realized there was a man sitting behind the enormous mahogany claw-footed desk, who was facing him with a benevolent smile.

He looked impossibly old, but when he stood, he moved with a grace that belied that age. But the best part was how much he looked like Xander imagined he should look: His midnight blue robes and sleeping cap hung well from his tall and lanky frame. It amused Xander to see that his silvery beard was almost tucked into the belt of his robe; he scratched his long, crooked nose, smashing his half moon spectacles into his face.

If Dumbledore told him his name was Merlin, Xander wouldn't even ask for a driver's license.

Dumbledore walked over to Xander and extended his hand. "Won't you please have a seat," he said, indicating a squishy, high backed chair in front of his desk. Xander gave a start when he saw Dumbledore's left hand; it looked burned and mangled, like it was a thousand years older than the rest of his body.

"A fantastic story, I assure you," he said, picking up on Xander's shock. He moved back behind the desk and sat. "But with all we have to discuss this evening, it's a story that must, unfortunately, remain untold."

"I didn't mean to stare." Xander cringed; not exactly the best way to start a relationship.

But unlike the troll Snyder, Dumbledore simply laughed and smiled. "My dear boy, how could you not?"

Xander let out a shaky breath of air, just as Dumbledore grabbed a candy dish. "Lemon drop?"

"Sure," Xander said, taking one of the sweet candies into his mouth.

"I have always found that a conversation is much easier with a 'Lemon Drop' or some other sweet."

"I'm sure 'Cosmo' would love to use that for one of their dating tips," Xander joked.

"A fine publication, to be sure," Dumbledore smiled, "but I prefer Muggle magazines on knitting patterns myself."

"Err, can't say I know any of those." Xander furrowed his brow; was he screwing with him?

But Dumbledore's face betrayed no hint of malice. "But we're not here to discuss my particular interests," he said. "I'm curious; what are your feelings so far on magic?"

Xander leaned back in his chair, giving some serious thought before answering. "It's awesome, and terrifying at the same time. Just when I think I'm getting a handle on things, you know, finally feeling like magic is old hat; advertisements flirt with me, I'm buying a magic wand, or I'm engaged in a death match with a spider. It can be a little much. But honestly? I can't wait to see what happens next."

Dumbledore's crisp blue eyes twinkled over his spectacles. "It sounds like you've got the proper attitude for the endeavor; that will make your time here much easier." Dumbledore leaned forward, lacing his hands together and peering over top. "Now, before I go into my long winded, yet ultimately informative speech, is there anything you'd like to ask?"

All at once the good feelings that had overwhelmed him for the last few hours disappeared. Yeah, there was something he wanted to ask; he just wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Uh yeah," Xander began. Dumbledore's never wavering attention was starting to make Xander wriggle in his chair.

"Don't get me wrong; most of this trip has been magically delicious. But I couldn't help but notice that everybody in Diagon Alley looks like they're waiting for a zombie invasion or something, and the fact that the words 'Death Eater', which might be the most terrifying combination of words ever, isn't just some spook story made up around the campfire. I tried asking Hagrid and Tom, and they said you were the person to speak with."

Xander leaned forward in his chair. "Now, I don't want to go home." That brought him up short; he was surprised to find he actually meant it. "But if I'm in some serious danger, I might as well head back to Sunnydale; there I can actually do something about it."

The age lines on Dumbledore's face deepened right before his eyes. "You are absolutely correct, Mr. Harris. Miss Clearwater should have explained the situation before you made a decision. Unfortunately that was not the case, and I'll have to do my best to regain your trust."

"Now I am prepared to explain everything to you," he continued, "and if you want to proceed with your education at Hogwarts, an option I very much hope you choose to take, then we will go over everything you need to know about the upcoming year. If however you choose to leave, I wish you the best of luck in the future, and offer any assistance I may be able to provide."

"Okay, yeah; lay it on me then."

"Very well." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, and poured himself a cup of tea from a pot on his desk.

"Would you like a cup?" he asked Xander.

"No thanks, I don't have a taste for the stuff."

Dumbledore stirred his drink, a small smile playing at his lips. "In this part of the world, talk like that is almost heresy."

"I can't imagine I'll be burned at the stake: too many bad memories for our kind." It didn't escape him that it was the first time he included himself when he mentioned wizard-kind.

Dumbledore chuckled and set his tea cup down. "Too right."

He continued, his expression and tone growing more serious with every word. "Now, in stories like this one, I find the best place to start is the beginning. What you need to understand first about witches and wizards, Mr. Harris, is that we are no less followers of the 'human condition' than any Muggle."

He held out his right hand. "We can choose to use our magic to soar to highest peaks of love and kindness, doing anything and everything to better our society.

He then held out his left hand. "While some turn their wands on each other, bringing out the vilest parts of their inner beings."

"So, what? Wizards have 'free will' or something?" Xander asked

"Precisely," Dumbledore said with a soft smile. "Fifty years ago, a student from Hogwarts freely chose the darker path, going farther than anyone before or after. He discovered secrets of magic that frankly were better left hidden, using this knowledge to increase his already considerable power and attack anyone who was not of the same mind when it came to blood status."

"I read something about that; the Wizarding world's contribution to good old fashioned persecution."

"Unfortunately you are correct," Dumbledore said, "but most don't believe in the idea of blood purity. Some of my best students have no history of magic in their families."

"But we're getting ahead of ourselves," Dumbledore continued. "That man, who began using the name Voldemort to distance himself from any links to his past life, began to recruit followers; like minded people who felt that his ideals were the correct ones. They called themselves Death Eaters."

"Oh."

Dumbledore began to look every bit his age. "Eighteen years ago our world was in complete turmoil: family members were disappearing, people were afraid to walk the streets, and the Ministry was unable to stop the spread of Voldemort and his followers. Fear pervaded every aspect of life."

"Wow. This is, ahhh, kinda beyond terrifying." Xander was doing his best to put on a brave face. "So what happened?"

"On the thirty-first of October, 1981, everything changed. Voldemort may have become versed in magic that was beyond anyone else, but of certain types of magic, the magic he deemed unimportant, he remained woefully ignorant."

He continued. "On the thirty-first, Voldemort killed a husband and wife who had actively fought against him. Then, he tried to kill their one year old son."

"Wowza," Xander gasped.

Contrary to what Xander expected, Dumbledore actually gave a small smile. "No one knows what happened that night, but when people reached the partially destroyed house, they found a healthy baby boy, and no sign of Voldemort."

Xander's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Wait, so he just let him go out of the evilness of his heart?"

"As I said, no one knows what happened that night, but the prevailing thought was that Voldemort had somehow been defeated."

Dumbledore blew gently on his still scalding tea. "The fact that he never reasserted himself afterwards lent credence to that idea. From there, the after effects were felt immediately: without their leader to guide them, Death Eaters were rounded up and put on trial, while some escaped custody or were able to convince the courts that they were forced to serve. The Wizarding world went back to normal, and tried to put the wretched period behind them."

That all sounded great, but something in the story didn't mesh with Xander. "So if he died all those years ago, why are people walking around, acting like he's going to pop out from under their bed?"

Dumbledore leaned forward, his beard tickling the edge of the desk. "Because Mr. Harris, Voldemort used his considerable knowledge of dark rituals to protect himself in the case of death. He did not die that night; more accurately, he has come back from what most would consider death."

He studied Xander intently as he set his teacup down, and waited before speaking again. "I must admit surprise at the fact that you're so accepting of the idea."

"The dead not staying dead? You call it one of the most amazing things you've ever seen, I call it Tuesday."

Dumbledore actually raised his shaggy eyebrows at this. "My apologies Mr. Harris," he said, "I forgot the precise reason you joined us this year.

"As I said, Voldemort, most likely using the darkest of magic, found a way to return a little over a year ago. Unfortunately, that means many of the same acts that occurred during his first reign have come back with a vengeance. It has not yet come close to the levels of before, but I fear that may soon change."

Dumbledore slipped his glasses off, and gently rested them on the desk.

"Make no mistake; while at Hogwarts, I am fully convinced that you are safe. The enchantments and protections on the castle walls are some of the most powerful in Britain, not to mention a bevy of powerful witches and wizards as your professors and protectors. You will learn in a safe environment, and you will return to your friends with a knowledge base in magic that should be quite an asset to the Slayer, not to mention giving you the ability to interact in the magical world."

He continued, his voice much more grave. "However, I would be less than truthful if I could make the same claim outside of these walls or Hogsmeade. You were fine going to Diagon Alley on your own because no one yet knew of you. But once schools starts, talk of the American Muggleborn transfer student will make you more popular than you may like."

"The choice is ultimately yours. But as I said earlier, I do hope you decide to stay. I believe you'll discover parts of yourself that you may never have thought existed."

Xander covered his hair with his hands, and let out a long, almost silent hiss of breath. So here it was finally, the truth. Fork in the road, thy name is Xander Harris. Dumbledore was almost making this easy to go back to Sunnydale. All he had to do was show up on Giles doorstep, tell the shocked group about this wacko wizard with a hard-on against Muggleborns, and he'd be getting sympathy hugs from Willow before he could say, "Bippity Boppity Boo."

But the looks they would give him; that was the image he couldn't get out of his head. The pitying looks that said it was better he turned tail and ran before the serious stuff happened, because really, what could Xander Harris do? The sad truth was he had learned to live with his life in danger, but he couldn't live with hating himself for giving up this opportunity.

In the end, the choice was really no choice at all.

"What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment. Sign me up, professor."

Dumbledore slipped his glasses back on, blue eyes twinkling in merriment. "I am very pleased to hear that, Mr. Harris."

"Now the first thing we must do," he said, standing up and grabbing a piece of cloth from a shelf behind his desk, "is discover in which house you will be spending the next year."

He sat back down, and unfurled the very old looking suede-ish item. "Your house and house mates will serve as your home away from home, offering assistance, guidance, and sometimes comfort. Normally you would take classes with your house, but as we will discuss in a moment, your situation will be different."

Dumbledore continued. "As I'm sure you've read, there are four houses: Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Each offer unique experiences and friendships."

"How do I know which one I'm in?" Xander asked.

"An excellent question. At first, the founders would choose students for their own houses. Now we have the Sorting Hat to help us."

Dumbledore stood and made his way to stand behind Xander's chair. "Please face forward. I assure you this is quite painless."

Xander felt the hat being placed on his head and slipping a little over his ears. Before he could ask what came next, the hat bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Very good!" Dumbledore said, snatching the hat and returning it to its shelf. "The house elves will take your possessions up to Gryffindor Tower, and they will also show you how to get there when we are finished."

"Is Gryffindor a good house?"

Dumbledore answered him with that same smile. "As I said, all of the houses offer unique people and perspectives, and all have wonderful attributes and histories."

His smile grew much more conspiratorial. "That said, and as a former Gryffindor myself, there have been many witches and wizards from the house who have gone onto great things." He finished it off with a wink.

Dumbledore sat back down at his desk. "Now, the professors arrive tomorrow to discuss the upcoming school year. During that time, you will be meeting with several of them individually so they can determine a starting point for your studies. You will have the next two weeks before school starts to study and follow their recommendations."

That put a lump in Xander's throat. He was glad he only had twenty-four hours to agonize over looking good tomorrow, instead of finding this out earlier and having days to freak out.

"As you know, you will not be following a normal course schedule: your curriculum will be geared toward the supernatural and basic magical knowledge. I daresay, you offer a challenge for our staff, one I'm sure they're more than happy to take on. This means you will be moving from class to class, dependent on how their current subject matter will benefit your unique situation."

Dumbledore continued, "So until the school year starts, though much of your time will be spent studying, you will also have free reign of the castle; perhaps you'll discover many heretofore hidden secrets."

Before he could answer, Xander's stomach gave an obnoxious growl. "Maybe, but what I'd really like to discover is some dinner; I haven't eaten all day."

"Of course," Dumbledore said kindly. "As soon as you're situated in your room I'll have the house elves bring you something from the kitchen."

"Thanks," Xander said. "So, what's this place like when actual students are here?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, as he laced his hands together once more, "I wouldn't dare ruin the pleasure of finding that out for yourself. Now is there anything else before I call the house elf?"

There was another question he wanted to ask, one he had wanted to know since he first heard Dumbledore had offered him a spot at Hogwarts.

"Yeah, there is. Why are you doing this? I can't see you taking many transfer students in their second to last year. Plus with the whole Hellmouth thing; the American schools wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole."

Dumbledore took his time before answering. "First; I have a great deal of admiration for what you've done in regards to the supernatural, and what you'll continue to do in the future. There are very few young men or women who would risk themselves as you do for the 'right thing'."

His expression grew more tired. "Though I find myself locating more and more every year, unfortunately."

He shook himself out of his momentary stupor. "Also, while my American counterparts view your heritage as something taboo, I prefer to never judge a person based on their upbringing. Your magic may be less pronounced because of the Hellmouth, but I find that all the more reason to train you as much as possible. Besides, I enjoy surprises; not to sound too full of myself, but being quite as clever as I am, I am so rarely caught off guard. I have a feeling you might 'throw me for a loop' this year."

Xander smiled at the description. "That's me; the guy who drives my teachers crazy: be careful what you wish for."

"Fair enough. Beamer?" Dumbledore called out.

Instantly a small creature popped into existence next to Dumbledore's desk. It couldn't have been taller than Xander's knees, and the Hogwarts toga it wore touched the tops of it's brown toes. Beamer stared at Dumbledore with huge tennis ball eyes and a look of adoration.

"Yes sir Mr. Dumbledore?" it squeaked out.

Dumbledore bent lower to address Beamer. "Will you please escort Mr. Harris to Gryffindor Tower, then make sure he receives something to eat?"

Beamer puffed out its little chest. "You'se can count on me, sir!" She, which he guessed based on the high pitched voice, turned to Xander. "Please follow me!"

With a bemused smile, Xander rose from his chair. The little thing was so ugly it was actually cute.

"If there is anything you need in the meantime Mr. Harris, please don't hesitate to call on me; that is, if you can find my office again," Dumbledore said pleasantly.

Before he reached the door to the office, Xander was struck with one final thought.

"That boy, the one Voldemort-" Beamer gave a loud squeak. "Uh, the one he tried to kill; what happened to him?"

"That boy?" Dumbledore said. "That boy's name is Harry Potter, and you'll be sharing a dorm room with him."

A/N: So everyone give thanks to my beta, dozygirl, for working hard and getting this last chapter ready. Unfortunately, this may be the last chapter for awhile that I'll post. As of now I have about half the story written, and I'm plugging away at the rest. I appreciate everyone who has reviewed this story so far, and especially everyone who offered to help me beta. It's incredibly satisfying to know that people enjoy what I've written.

So, this is all for the time being, but please keep looking for this story to be updated: I promise it will be finished.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Special Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

* * *

_Dear Willow,_

_I know, I know, bad Xander for not writing back sooner. Right now you're probably giving me that look, you know, the one that you get whenever I say it's ridiculous that we take a class on English when we speak the language. Don't worry, I still remember the promise I made: if the only thing between me and an uber-painful death is my ability to conjugate a verb, I promise to let you say, "I told you so," at my funeral. If it makes you feel better, I'm reeeeeeaaaaaalllllly sorry (and I've been studying hard – I know, crazy right?) _

_Sorry to hear your summer is boring, but in Sunnydale, isn't that kind of a good thing? Things should definitely perk up once Buffy comes back next week. If there's anything our Buffster excels at, it's causing mayhem and craziness – but in a fun, "you can't help but love me" kind of way. Oh, and way to go on talking Giles out of re-organizing the demon texts. Tell him I now know oodles of British, and it's not a national requirement to be so stuffy._

_Anyway, I DID try to start this yesterday, but I wanted to be all authentic wizard this time, and I'm still getting the hang of this whole quill-in-ink thing (you kinda just dunk it, in case you need to know) Plus all my teachers require it for my homework. Remember that part about studying a lot way back in paragraph one? Yeah, it would probably be more accurate to say I've had "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE GOD MAKE IT STOP!" amounts of work. But with no one else really here, I've had the time on my hands._

_So in my last letter I told you about the Wizarding world so far, and how awesome Hogwarts was, with it's kinda headless ghosts, spooky dungeons, flirty picture witches, and general air of magicity (not a word, I know). Well, in the two weeks since I last wrote you, I've had to seriously cut back on the cool. This is because I had a meeting with most of my teachers individually about the school year, and they felt the need to crush me with all the work you could imagine. _

_The meetings themselves were, umm, interesting? Most were fine; a couple really stood out. The first teacher I met with was the head of my house, Ms. McGonagall -_

"Transfiguration, or changing one object into another, is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. I do not tolerate foolishness in my classroom. Consider this your warning."

"Now, Mr. Harris; why don't you show me what you can do."

Xander stood frozen on the spot. Professor McGonagall was peering over her square frames, frowning slightly. It's not that she was being unreasonable in her request, but she was so uptight and _professional_ that she intimidated the hell out of him. Instead of thinking of any of the transfiguration spells he practiced last night in the common room, he couldn't stop wondering if she used magic to make her hair bun so tight.

"Harris," she bit out, startling him. "You DO know of spells for transfiguration, don't you? You were given materials to study before coming to Hogwarts for this very meeting. As head of Gryffindor house, I demand a certain level of hard work and excellence from my students. While being new to Hogwarts and magic in general, I nonetheless will expect the same from you."

Fantastic. He was already besmirching the good name of Godric Gryffindor.

"Umm, yeah, sure, of course, I know spells, lots of spells, soooooo many spells," he trailed off, laughing nervously. She still peered at him unnervingly, no hint of an emotion besides irritation on her pursed lips.

Note to self: humor and strategic patheticness, not going to work on ole' McGonagall.

Seconds before faking a phantom arm injury to get out of this, one of last nights spells popped into his head. He scurried to the front of the classroom and riffled through the box of items on McGonagall's desk. He found the matchstick, set it by itself on the desk, and said a prayer to anyone listening.

"_Postulo_," he cried out, swooping his arm.

The matchstick wiggled on the desk top, lengthened a fraction, changed into a silvery color, and just laid there. That was about as far as he got last night, but he'd hoped for a miraculous comeback today. He was afraid to look up at McGonagall's judging face.

"Try to not flourish your wand so much. Like this," she said. Silently she turned the matchstick back to it's original shape, and then did the same spell he'd just attempted, but successfully turned hers into a needle. Xander watched her like a hawk, trying to find the difference in her movements.

"Now please try again," she said.

He nodded, and said, "_Postulo_," making sure to move his arm less severely. There was definite improvement: the matchstick now lengthened further and looked like metal, but was still no where as thin as a needle.

"Very good," she nodded.

"Really?" he said, scratching his head.

"Yes. You have a better grasp of the wording and wand movements then I'd anticipated. Are you surprised?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Let's just say I'm not used to teachers congratulating me when I get something wrong."

The line between her eyes deepened considerably, courtesy of the scowl she directed his way. "Learning magic is not about getting it right the first time, Harris. If it were, there would be no need for professors at Hogwarts. It's about hard work, practice, and confidence; the likes of which you seem to lack."

Then with just the barest crack in her icy exterior, she said, "Luckily you seem to have an affinity for magic. I do believe the confidence will come in time. And I hope this goes without saying, but as your head of house, please feel free to come to me with any problems that do arise."

Before they could have their full on "After School Special" moment, the smile vanished from her face and she was back to business.

"Now, let's work on every other transfiguration spell you've learned."

_So you know how they have that saying about teachers, "tough but fair?" They so wrote that about McGonagall. I think if you even thought about possibly maybe giving serious consideration to having further discussions in your dreams about cheating on one of her tests, she'd find out and give your dream-self detention. She gave me a boatload of homework (which is kind of the overall theme of this letter), but she's also met with me in the common room a few times to drink tea (still not a fan), and discuss Hogwarts and what my life was like in Sunnydale. She still doesn't crack too many smiles, but at least she seems to care._

_They also have this class here called Muggle Studies with Ms. Burbage. You know how super excited you got at the idea of everyday spells, like the ones that can iron your shirts for you (if you're into that sort of thing?) Well, imagine that from the other side, and you have my teacher, Ms. Burbage. -_

Charity Burbage leaned forward on her stool, excitement dancing behind her eyes. "Let me get this straight: you have actually driven a manual?"

Xander looked at her puzzled.

"Oh, ah, shift stick automobile, I believe you may call it," Professor Burbage said.

"Oh, it's stick shift, and yeah I have. I've even been wacky enough to drive on the right side of the road, too."

Gray ringlets danced around her head as she clapped and smiled ear to ear. "Simply marvelous! You can offer such a unique perspective in my class. Not only have you lived life as just a Muggle longer than any other student, it was as an American Muggle at that!"

"Not that the thought of me being the smartest person in a class isn't conjuring up a mental happy, but with just being here a year, do I really need to learn more about Muggles?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Xander worried he'd inadvertently put his foot in it; instead of being offended however, she nodded her head vigorously.

"Of course I can understand that thought. We've found that many of our Muggleborn students benefit from the give and take brought out by the discussions in Muggle Studies. I dare say you'll learn just as much about the magical world from the student's questions and preconceived notions as they'll learn of the Muggle world."

Her face lit up like a teenager, making the years peel away from her middle-aged face. "Now, I have a very important question for you."

She leaned forward once more, and spoke conspiratorially. "Have you ever learned how to perform the 'Macarena'?"

_She ah, didn't really have too much to ask me, certainly nothing to do with pop culture or possible Spanish dance crazes. Or how many steps may or may not be involved, and if it's important to sing along to the music. Not that I would know anything. At all. Ever. In fact, let's never speak of this again._

_Anywho, like I said, most of the meetings went fine. There was one guy though, who I swear if I didn't see him standing in the sunlight I would have slipped a little holy water mickey in his drink. Think dark, menacing, and broody like Angel, but without all the humor and warmth. My meeting with him was so not of the good. -_

"I find your lack of any talent truly astounding. Perhaps you would have been better sorted into Hufflepuff."

Xander really would have preferred to give Mr. Snape a true-on tough guy stare, but all he could muster in the face of condescending authority was his typical nervous cackle. The more he cackled and internally raged, the more Snape smirked at him through his curtain of greasy black hair.

For Xander, it was hate at first sight.

"Come on, can't you cut a guy some slack for giving the good old college try? It's not like I've ever "_stupefied"_ anything before."

"Ah yes," Snape sneered, as he walked languid circles around Xander, "the excuse of the ineffectual. You will find, Mr. Harris, that I am not like most of the professors at Hogwarts: I will not coddle, I will not hand hold, nor will I -"

He swooped just inches in front of Xander, startling him to the point of almost shrieking.

"Give you false praise to simply bolster your diminutive ego," he said after studying Xander's every facial feature. The contempt dripped off his tongue with the ease of familiarity.

Snape picked up pacing once more. "My sole responsibility is to teach you how to defend yourself against the Dark Arts, something I'm told you have experience in."

He spun on his heel in front of Xander, his black robe billowing behind him. "Or more likely, you have great experience standing behind someone else who deals with the Dark Arts."

All of a sudden he found it difficult to make eye contact. "That's why I'm here; to learn," Xander said quietly.

"You obviously have not _learned_ to recreate the body-bind spell that you claim to have performed on a lowly spider," Snape said, sitting down at his desk, flipping through paperwork at deliberate speed.

"Hey, I did stun a spider, more or less," Xander said with little heat.

"Of course." Snape didn't even have the courtesy to look at him. It was obvious from his tone that he found the idea of Xander performing any spell laughable.

Xander stood awkwardly, caught between wanting to leave the classroom and trying again to "_stupefy"_the practice dummy. Snape was no help in either department; he acted as if Xander wasn't in the same hemisphere, let alone ten steps away.

"So, umm, should I -"

"Here is a list of the work I expect you to finish before the start of term," Snape said, thrusting parchment at Xander. "You will have this work completed if you even want me to consider wasting my valuable time instructing you."

A million different thoughts fluttered through Xander's mind, all of them having the common theme of something bad happening to Snape. He kept telling himself he stayed quiet because he wanted to be a sterling pupil for once, hardworking and eager, and getting lippy with a teacher was not the road to take. If he dug deeper, he probably would have found the real reason he felt queasy with unease.

So he stopped digging.

"Yeah, so okay, I'll put this with the Mt. Everest of homework I have already, and just let you get back to whatever it is you're doing. Umm, thanks."

Xander quickly headed for the door, but was stopped on the threshold when Snape starting speaking.

"It is probably better that you are learning just basic spellwork," he said, never making eye contact with the focus of his scorn, "if your effort today is any indication, I doubt you have enough power to give yourself razor burn with a simple shaving spell."

Xander found himself gripping the door jam with enough force to crack stone. What did Snape know about him anyway? How could you make any assumptions after five minutes of working with someone? Snape was just like most of the teachers at Sunnydale; smug in his superiority, grabbing jollies on being the smartest in the room.

Razor burn: shows what Snape knows; he wasn't even shaving more than once a month anyway.

Xander fled the classroom, determined to avoid meeting Snape again until the first day of school.

_All the other teachers I dealt with were pretty cool for the most part, so I guess it's only fair that one of them is a solid gold pain in the arse (see, I'm already learning a second language)! Oh, and in case you were wondering; yeah, lots and lots of homework._

_The big surprise is the work hasn't been that bad. Of course, there were times I wanted to rip out my left eye, but overall I'd like to think that 'England Xander' has turned over a new leaf from 'Sunnydale Xander'. It's still a big green leaf, but it doesn't hate all school work with a passion. Actually, it went better than I thought it would. I may not get the spells to work just right, but I actually know what I'm doing. It's like reading and studying a real life comic book, and who do you know that has better comic know-how than me? Get ready for a magic filled Senior year with Xander by your side (I'll even buy us matching wizard caps!)_

_You were right, I kinda-maybe-sorta have a knack for this magic stuff. At least most of my teachers were pretty impressed with what I turned into them yesterday (that was when all my work was due). Look at me, giving you a run for your money in the school suck-up department (written with love, naturally!)_

_I know what you're thinking now: "Oh no, Xander can't be doing this much studying without a break! His head will explode!" Don't worry; all work and no play has not made Xander a dull boy. I've taken a little time for some serious magicking (again, I know it's not a word). _

_So one thing I've definitely discovered is in the Wizard world, man-eating plants is not just a catchy, fun nickname. Without getting into too many details, let's just say I may need you to send me another pair of sneakers._

_So the staircases move. I thought I should get that out of the way. A few days ago, I was trying to get an idea of where all my classrooms were, when I came to a staircase on the third floor that I could have sworn pointed in a different direction then earlier in the week. Sure enough, like two seconds later, the staircase started moving on its own. Not like the escalator at the mall either; it was a full on shift from one side of the room to the other. So on top of trying to make it in a foreign country, and a weird school with kids I've never met, I now have to contend with temperamental steps. _

_The castle is great, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I think the designer was a sadistic jerk._

_Holy moly! Look at the time! I'd love to tell you more, but did I mention that today is the day all the other students arrive? I let that one slip? You know me, Mr. Unreliable Narrator. Anyway, after two weeks of solitary confinement (except for Beamer the house-elf, who I want to adopt – she makes a mean Hawaiian pizza and actually folds my socks!), I get to meet the other inmates of this wacky asylum, HA HA! _

_I'm so excited, I've actually been sitting in my full on Wizard robes for the whole day (please take a moment of silence in appreciation of the total wickedness of wearing Wizard robes)! _

_Don't get me wrong, I'm mega nervous about the whole thing. In fact, I repacked my trunk in case my dorm mates decide they don't want someone new here. But at the same time, I'm really excited about this year. This could really work out, Wills. _

_Anyway, as much as I hate to, I have to wrap this up and get ready. Once again, send everyone my best, and let Buffy know that when she gets back in town, I'll write the both of you. I miss you all a whole lot; give Giles a big hug for me (and when you do, please try and pull off the whole over the top sinister evil laugh – I know it's not your strong suit, but I think he'll get a kick out of it). Oh, and I'm including a little surprise with this. Don't let your parents see it (not what you think; bad, dirty minded Willow!)._

_Your bestest bud,_

_Xander_

Xander made one last pass over the letter to make sure the spelling and grammar were at least on a sixth grade level. Thems the dangers of having a really smart best friend. Satisfied that his work wouldn't get him eviscerated in her next letter, he folded the paper and stuck it in the envelope addressed to Giles' Watcher buddy.

Before sealing it, he grabbed the little surprise he mentioned – in this case, the first Wizarding photo taken of him. Hagrid had snapped it a few days ago, and made Xander dress up in his full Hogwarts gear and stand in front of the castle's main entrance. He said it was such a beautiful day, the kind made for a proper photo. Xander did his usual hemming and hawing when it came to taking a picture, but this time it was pretty much an act.

Xander watched his photo-self look at the camera, half smile and smirk, and wave over and over again. No doubt Willow would get a big kick out of it.

With that out of the way, he stood and took a good look at the Gryffindor common room. This would be the last time that he was its sole occupant: by this evening, the red and gold couches and squishy chairs would be full of gossiping kids, and the tables would hold the usual nutbags who enjoyed doing homework a little too much.

A small pop jarred him from his thoughts. Beamer appeared next to him, her usual look of adoration firmly in place. She had been named Xander's unofficial guardian during his two weeks here, and for some reason she had taken a real shine to him.

"You be needin' anything before the students arrive, Mr. Xander?" she squeaked.

He thought hard before answering. "Nope, Beamsy; I think I'm good to go."

She lost a little bit of steam and her ears dipped toward the ground.

It had taken Xander a few days to realize that Beamer actually _thrived_ on doing work for him. He still felt a little weird having her wash his boxers every single day, but he didn't need the headache of her sobbing again when he suggested cutting back to once a week.

And then there was the day he tried to tip her for her work. Holy cow! He had to actually restrain her from throwing herself off of Gryffindor Tower. From then on, he made sure to limit his thanks to simple praise.

Still, it kinda made him feel like a heel to have her wait on him hand and foot. No pun intended.

"You've just been such a huge help already; you've done all the work I needed done," he said kindly. Her ears even perked up.

He continued. "Besides, don't you have to get ready for everyone else? They should be getting here in," he looked toward his watch, "about forty minutes."

Beamer puffed out her chest in indignation. "Beamer can do both! Beamer is a great house-elf!"

"No, no, no," Xander said with his arms out in a placating manner. "Absolutely! If Michael Jordan and Wonder Woman had a house-elf baby, it would totally be you! I'm just saying, you don't have to worry about just me anymore."

Her huge eyes began to fill with tears.

"Uh-oh," he muttered under his breath.

"Mr. Xander doesn't like Beamer anymore!" she wailed out.

Beamer threw herself to the ground, pounding her hands and feet on the cold stones. Her sobs echoed against the walls of the nearly empty room.

"Beamers the best! Beamers the best!" he yelled over and over as he grabbed the struggling house-elf. Dealing with this mini-meltdown was not helping his already frayed nerves.

His constant stream of encouragement must have worked, because she started to calm down.

"You know what Beamer, I DO have something you can do for me." She looked at him with huge, hopeful eyes, and he wracked his brain for something suitable.

"Ummm, oh! I got it. How about you bring me a snack tonight after dinner? Since I can't have my usual ten p.m. feast, I guess a little something of the dessert variety will have to do the trick."

That seemed to be enough for her, because she nodded her head vigorously. "You'll see Mr. Xander, I'll bring you the best dessert you ever seen!"

And just like that, she popped out of existence. He let out a relieved breath and ran his hands through his hair. Beamer may not be a human being, but she proved one fact that crosses the lines of any species: dealing with a crying female was scarier than anything with claws and fangs.

He eventually left the common room, threw a wink and a nod at the giggling portrait of the Fat Lady, and went to the Owlery to mail his letter. He used his completely novice knowledge of owls to pick out one that looked like it would be fast in flight. It pleased him to see he chose well; as soon as he tied off the letter to it's leg, that owl zoomed like grease lightning.

There were about twenty-five minutes before the students were to arrive, but Xander could not wait a second longer. He made his way to the entrance hall, making sure to jump over the growling step that might possibly chew his leg off, and tittered to and fro at the threshold of the still closed Great Hall. His insides were an odd mix of elation and terror, very much like the moment right before you ask out the girl of your dreams.

Xander's eyes narrowed.

_Okay, maybe that's not the best example, _he thought.

Without warning, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, with Professor Flitwick on the other side putting his wand away.

"Ah, Mr. Harris," Flitwick said when he noticed the finicky boy in the Entrance Hall. "A little early, aren't we?"

"Well, most times I like to show up fashionably late," Xander said as he shrugged his shoulders. "You know, try on a bunch of dresses, make sure my hair looks just right, all the normal things a guy goes through for the sake of our beauty. But I had this old thing," he spun in place, his robe ballooning around him, "in the back of my closet, so I cut out the normal muss and fuss."

Flitwick's tiny body shook with laughter. "Of course, of course; just make sure arriving on time for my class is never a casualty of your keen fashion sense."

"I'll do my best."

"Well, you might as well come in," Flitwick said as he started walking toward the empty staff table. "Take a seat: the Gryffindor table is on the far right."

The wonder and grandeur of the Great Hall's magic was not steeped in flashiness – in fact, the floating candles were rather benign compared to some of the other magic Xander had seen. But the ambiance; making one feel as if magic sat right next to you with a gentle hand on your shoulder, was more impressive than any dancing teacup.

A memory floated through his mind, a wonderful memory of when much younger versions of he and Willow had pooled their vast fortunes – around nine dollars and fifty cents – and bought as many glow in the dark star stickers they could from Garrett's Corner Grocer. He could remember laughing, making funny faces and throwing food as they spent the day putting up hundreds of stars above each of their beds.

Over the next few years, he would stare each night at those stars, and let his mind wander before drifting off to sleep. For a little while, all the problems and issues with his life and family would fade away, and he could imagine something...more. It was a secret part of himself that he kept hidden, even from Willow.

As he sat down at the Gryffindor table and stared at the amazing ceiling that reflected the outside sky, he felt the same way now gazing at the millions of twinkling stars as he did those many years ago.

Minutes later a chorus of voices drifted into the hall, and for one jarring moment Xander thought the students had arrived. But it was just the teachers, entering the hall and talking in subdued, serious tones. Most either said a quiet "hello" or gave a small wave (except Snape, who rolled his eyes and gave his customary sneer) when they noticed the solitary Gryffindor.

"Not too nervous I hope?" Professor Burbage had peeled off from speaking with Professor Vector to sneak up on Xander.

"Ehhhh." He held his index finger and thumb about an inch apart.

A girlish laugh bubbled out of the Muggle Studies professor. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

Just then the sounds of carriages and raucousness piped in from the entrance hall. Professor Burbage must have noticed the intense anxiousness on Xander's face, because she gave a small smile, patted him on the shoulder, and went to the staff table.

_Should hands ever be this sweaty?_ he thought. It didn't matter how many times Xander rubbed them on his gray pants; those puppies had a "straight out of the faucet" quality that he couldn't shake.

The first group of giggling girls came strolling in, the blue trim on their clothing telling him they were Ravenclaws. He sat up a little higher in his seat, unconsciously straightening his tie.

Their giggling stopped when they noticed him sitting all by his lonesome. He waved nervously to the suddenly inquisitive girls, who started giggling once more as a group before sitting down.

He slowly lowered his hand; British girls weren't that different from their American cousins.

Students were filtering in at a much quicker pace now. He could hear snippets of laughter and questions about each other's summers, and an overall sense of happiness to be back.

Xander soon faded into the anonymous crowd, most other houses missing the presence of the entirely new student. But not the Gryffindors: he was studied by every member with a keen eye, and whispered about with sharp tongues.

He could only stand a few minutes of all the attention before he planted his eyes firmly on the table. It didn't drown out the whispering, but at least he could pretend that it wasn't about him. It seemed no one wanted to make the first move and actually _ask _him what he was doing there; instead they were content to gossip.

Not exactly a great start. Maybe he should just stand up naked and kick this whole awkward moment into epic territory.

"Hey, I remember you! You were at Ollivander's, right?"

Being addressed directly surprised him, so he found his brain and mouth unable to move. It took him a few seconds to register that the boy sitting down on the other side of the table was the same one who was there when he got his wand.

"Err yeah, that's me. You were there with your grandmother, right?"

An easy smile slipped on to his slightly chubby face. "Yep, that's my Gran. She can be a little much, but we get on alright." The boy quickly stiffened with surprise. "Wait, you're a Yank!"

Xander rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, McGonagall's going to explain to everyone when we get back to the common room, but the gist of it is I just found out I was a wizard, and Hogwarts offered to take me."

The boy sat there, slightly gobsmacked. "Blimey, that had to be quite a shock." He shook himself. "Oh, but wait, I'm Neville Longbottom!" he said in a nervous hurry.

For some reason, the sight helped calm Xander.

"Xander Harris." He extended his hand across the table and shook Neville's. "You don't have to worry; I won't tell your grandmother you forgot to introduce yourself to a stranger."

Neville's cheeks colored. "Some habits die hard."

A pretty redhead around Xander's age slipped into the seat beside Neville. "Did I hear you're American?" she asked.

"Yep, from America: Xander Harris."

"Nice to meet you; Ginny Weasley," she said, shaking his offered hand.

Xander's eyes lit up in recognition. "Hey, I met your brothers at The Leaky Cauldron!"

"Really," she said, surprised. "Which ones?"

"Fred and George."

She rolled her eyes in good nature. "Try not to hold it against me that we're related." Suddenly she grew alarmed. "You didn't eat anything they gave you, did you?"

Xander laughed. "Nope, I already got the warning. They're great guys, but that whole finishing each other's sentences thing they do gets a little freaky deeky. I was tempted to flick one of them in the ear and see if the other said, 'Ow!'"

"Sadly, it doesn't work" she said. "I've hit both of them enough times to know, believe me."

Before he could reply, he felt a presence next to him. He tilted his neck and was met with a bushy head of brown hair. For a wild second he thought it was a mini-Hagrid, but then he realized it was just a girl with really unlucky follicle genes.

"Xander Harris?" she asked succinctly.

"Err, yeah?"

Her hand thrust out, oh-so straight and proper. "Hermione Granger." Hesitantly, he shook it; this girl was giving off a weirdly hypnotic intensity.

"Professor McGonagall made myself and Ron Weasley - " she shifted her body and nodded toward the lanky redhead a few seats down, who was talking and laughing with a group of guys. A long suffering sigh verbalized her feelings on his lack of attention. "Aware of some of the details of your situation. As a Muggleborn myself and someone in your year, she thought it would be best if I assisted you in your classwork and getting acclimated to Hogwarts."

"Ummm, thanks?"

She kept right on. "I think the best route to take is to meet in the common room tomorrow after our classes, say promptly at seven? We can go over your assigned work and I can answer any other questions you may have."

He could only nod mutely at the Tasmanian Devil of planning.

"Very good." She then eased up, becoming much more casual. "Needless to say, I'm fascinated to hear the rest of your story. I've never read of another case of someone discovering their magical abilities so late in life."

"I think a trip to the library is in order," Ginny said in a friendly, yet pompous voice. Neville snickered behind his hand.

"Oh ha-ha," Hermione said without anger. She addressed Xander once more. "When Professor Dumbledore releases us back to our common room, just follow me: I'll be leading the first years."

And with that she nodded to Neville and Ginny and flew away like a whirlwind.

"I actually already...know...the..." He trailed off when it became obvious Hermione didn't hear him.

"That's Hermione," Neville said when he noticed Xander looking at him for some help. "She's the best. Saved me a whole bunch of times when it came to class work. Smartest witch in the school, you know. But she can be a little," he darted his eyes toward Hermione, making sure she couldn't hear him, "scary sometimes."

"Yeah, I kinda got that."

Ginny leaned closer over the table. "You should have seen her when she found out her, Ron, and Harry were getting their O.W.L. results: I thought mum was going to have to force her to drink some Draught of Peace."

Both Ginny and Neville started laughing, which seemed a little cruel to Xander. "Sorry guys, not really seeing the funny in sick pets."

Neville and Ginny exchanged a look, until dawning comprehension blossomed for Neville. "No, no, O.W.L.'s: Ordinary Wizarding Levels; they're tests all fifth years have to take."

Xander was relieved to see that both we're laughing and smiling with him, and not at him.

A sudden hush fell over the Great Hall, all attention diverting to the doors to the Entrance. McGonagall stood at the front of a group of petrified first years, every one looking like they were about to face the executioner. Xander was glad this was something he didn't have to do when he was eleven years old: peeing your pants in front of your peers is not the best way to make fast friends.

The next few minutes were a blur as the Sorting Hat, placed on a stool in the front of the Hall, sprouted a rip for a mouth and actually sang a song! It had something to do about the different houses and uniting, but Xander wasn't really paying attention; for some reason he kept daydreaming about the Sorting Hat in some hardcore rap video talking about smoking blunts and blastin' fools. Wonder if it was East Coast or West Coast?

His mind was an odd, odd place.

He was roused from his musings when McGonagall marched down the middle of the four tables, the nervous kids hot on her trail. She stopped a few feet away from the now silent hat, and pulled out a scroll.

"Abbott, Ethan," she called out loudly.

A small, mousy boy started hesitantly toward the stool, his already pale skin losing color by the second. He picked up the Sorting Hat and sat down, slipping it on his head where it fell almost below his eyes. Xander could see the mouth of the Sorting Hat murmuring something to the boy, but what was said was between the two of them.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat screamed, followed by deafening cheers from the Gryffindor table. Xander clapped politely as Ethan Abbott (looking very much relieved), slid into an empty chair and received handshakes and pats on the back.

The rest of the first years followed suit; an equal number dispersed between the four houses. The mutterings and dark looks from Gryffindor toward the Slytherin table whenever they received a new student were not missed by Xander. He knew Slytherin had a bit of a reputation, but it seemed like the entire table wouldn't mind seeing them disappear.

When the last student (Zantrell, Dominique) was sorted into Ravenclaw, Dumbledore stood at the podium, arms held behind his back.

"Welcome students to another year at Hogwarts," he said in merriment. The hall erupted in cheers once more, this time Xander joining in with great enthusiasm.

And why not? He was a student now; maybe not as familiar as most, but he was definitely two weeks up on the first years.

"There are many things to discuss," Dumbledore started once the crowd quieted. "But I believe it is news that can best be received on a full stomach. So with that, dig in!"

With his proclamation, mountains and valleys of food appeared up and down the tables. The smells and aromas of the chickens and roasts, potatoes, vegetables, and about a million other delectables were absolutely mouth watering. He could feel his stomach getting ready to throw up the white flag; there was no way he was going to avoid making himself sick.

He tore into a roasted chicken leg, eyes closing in satisfaction as he savored the flavor from the very first bite like a thirsty man in the desert. It was heavenly: house-elves really were the best cooks imaginable.

"Are you going to be staying here the entire year?" Neville asked. He was ladling mound after mound of mashed potatoes on his plate.

"Yeah," he said, once he swallowed the bit of food in his mouth. "I'm not always going to be with the sixth year Gryffindors though; I'm going to be moving from class to class, depending on what's being taught."

At their confused looks, he added, "This way, I can learn the basics and some other spells to help me in everyday life: you know, since I started so late. I may not ever be a Merlin or anything, but at least I'll be able to light a fire without matches."

He and Dumbledore had decided that it was probably better to avoid mentioning his ties with the Slayer. It was unwanted attention, and frankly he was already going to have enough of that throughout the year.

"Wow," Ginny said, shoving some sort of pudding in her mouth. Her slim figure and petite build did not translate to her eating habits; she tore into her food with just as much gusto as Xander ever had.

She continued, daintily wiping her mouth with a napkin. "That's wicked. I mean, this way you don't have to waste your time on the pointless bits. But wait, won't that be tough? Keeping track of where you need to be on what day."

"I figure if I just stumble blindly into any classroom, I'm bound to be right some of the time."

"You don't want to be late for Professor Snape's class, though," Neville said darkly. "He'll dock points from Gryffindor."

"That's his favorite thing in the world to do," Ginny added.

"I think Professor Snape is going to take points away from me for breathing. Long story short, he pretty much hates my guts: okay, not that long of a story," Xander said.

For some reason, Neville brightened considerably at the news.

Over the rest of dinner, Xander regaled the two with stories about growing up as a Muggle in Southern California. Being Purebloods, they were of course suitably confused with eighty percent of what Xander talked about, but at least they didn't call B.S. It was odd to speak with people who were totally comfortable with trolls and unicorns, yet were shocked and appalled by the idea of gym class.

Curiously, after Xander described the finer points of a cellular phone, Ginny said that her dad would love him.

He didn't know how to take that.

In return Neville and Ginny (who faded in and out of conversation as she chatted with her other friends and boyfriend), talked about Hogwarts and overall life with magic. They also gave him the skinny on some of the people in Gryffindor House; who was nice, and who to avoid like the plague. But overall, they gave him a sense of people totally comfortable around magic. These two had lived with it since birth: where the idea of a clock that told you what your family members were doing sounded completely bizarre to Xander, it was common for them.

A few minutes after Professor Snape strolled out of the Great Hall and Hagrid lumbered in, Xander said to Neville, "I'm kind of surprised no one else is asking me any questions; I'd have thought I'd be giving this story three hundred times tonight."

"Yeah, you're right," Neville said. "Maybe everyone's waiting to corner you in the common room. What do you think Ginny?"

But Ginny wasn't paying attention. She was too busy staring down the table, her lips dipping into a frown. Both Neville and Xander turned to see Hermione and Ginny's brother Ron in serious discussion, worried looks passing between them as they kept glancing at the Entrance Hall doors. The intensity of their conversation kept increasing.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Neville asked Ginny.

But she didn't answer him. Instead she asked, "Where's Harry?"

Neville glanced up and down the table in alarm. "I don't see him! You don't think -"

But at that moment a black haired boy with a scrawny build motored in through the doors, looking like a storm cloud hung over his head. Strangely he wore very baggy jeans and a sweatshirt instead of robes and the uniform.

By now the entire Great Hall had noticed his late entry. Muttering and people pointing fingers followed him as he turned down the aisle of the Gryffindor table.

Ginny gasped as he came closer; the boys face was covered in blood, but not so much that it blocked out the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

So this was Harry Potter. Huh. He'd expected someone bigger.

Unconsciously Xander, along with Neville and Ginny, leaned in their seats toward Harry as he plopped down next to Hermione.

"Where've you – blimey, what've you done to your face?" Ron asked. He goggled at Harry; along with a lot of other people around the table.

Harry picked up a spoon and started examining himself. "Why, what's wrong?"

"You're covered in blood!" Hermione said. "Come here - "

She pointed her wand at his face, saying some spell Xander couldn't catch. Like a vacuum, her wand siphoned off the dry blood.

"Thanks," Harry said, rubbing his face. "How's my nose looking?"

"Normal," Hermione said nervously. "Why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!"

Her raised voice seemed to make Harry aware that they had several interlopers in their conversation. His eyes raked over the people to his right and left, including Xander. Everyone quickly sat back in their seats and pretended they weren't just caught eavesdropping.

"I'll tell you later," Harry said.

"But -"

"Not now, Hermione," Harry said with finality.

Harry reached out to grab a chicken leg, but the food on the table vanished before he got his hands on it. Almost directly a bevy of desserts appeared. Xander very nearly cried out in joy, and was very tempted to just grab the various pastries and pies by the handful and start shoving them in his face.

Ginny and Neville were not nearly as eager to tear into the treats. They both had uneasy looks on their faces, and it took them some time to drag their attention away from Harry.

"I reckon it must not be that important if he's keeping it between Ron and Hermione," Neville said nonchalantly. It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Ginny and Xander.

"Please Neville, where have you been the last six years," Ginny scoffed, glumly spooning some ice cream into her plate.

"I thought that after the Department of Mysteries, he, I don't know -"

"Might've included us?" Ginny asked.

Neville only shrugged his shoulders, but it was obvious she was spot on.

Often times Xander would have piped in with a, "What you talkin' about Willis?" to get to the bottom of this conversation, but this didn't seem like the time for silliness: so he stayed quiet.

"Cheer up, Nev," Ginny said, giving him a friendly slug in the arm. "I'm sure if he had been attacked by Death Eaters, he would have rushed up to Dumbledore the second he got here; after he hexed Snape, of course."

Neville laughed a little and started grabbing some of the chocolate mousse. "Yeah, that's true." He spooned a large dollop into his mouth. "You know, I use to think it would be great to be "The Boy Who Lived", getting all the attention and fame." He waved his spoon, and Xander had to dodge bits of chocolate as he drank some butterbeer. "Not anymore though; I don't know how Harry does it. Plus, now everyone thinks he's the 'Chosen One', and that's a whole load - "

Xander choked and coughed on his drink.

"You have one of those, too?" he sputtered.

The rest of the feast was just as interesting as the sorting. It started when a rabble ran throughout the student body after they caught a glimpse of Dumbledore's right arm and its ninth-degree burns during his speech.

Even louder protests, though, followed the announcement that Snape would be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Professor Slughorn would teach Potions. Neville told him that Snape had held the Potions position for years. Xander couldn't understand the outburst; whether or not he taught Potions over Defense didn't mean that Snape wouldn't still be an ass.

Of much more interest to Xander was Dumbledore's very solemn discussion about Lord Voldemort's return. Much of what he said mirrored their earlier talk in the Headmaster's Office, but tonight, with the Great Hall quieting down to funeral-like levels, it took on an even darker tone.

Once released from the Welcoming Feast, he and Neville crawled through the portrait of the Fat Lady into the Gryffindor Common room. As he predicted, the sounds of adolescents and teenagers made it feel much less cavernous than what Xander had experienced up to this point in his stay. He noticed people had paired off into smaller cliques, making it obvious who was in what year.

As he stood next to the fire, he could see every eye flicking toward him, debating on whether they wanted to be the first person to chat him up. He felt like a piece of meat at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

It seemed Neville was right in his earlier assessment: the rest of his housemates had waited until they entered the friendly confines of Gryffindor before barraging him with questions.

Right before the first group of eager looking, and fairly attractive females walked up to him, McGonagall entered the room.

"Your attention please! Attention!" she yelled out.

The room immediately quieted down. "For all returning members, and to our newest members," she said, nodding toward the first years huddled as one massive group around a table, "I am Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration professor and head of Gryffindor: I bid you welcome."

Cheers arose from the group, before McGonagall eventually silenced them with a twitch of her eye.

"The House of Godric Gryffindor has the noblest of histories, and is the home of many prominent and very well respected witches and wizards. I expect each and every one of you to uphold the traditions and values they set forth." She peered at each and every student, almost daring them to contradict her.

Once she was satisfied her point had been made, she continued. "Don't forget, you will receive your class schedule tomorrow during breakfast. If you have any questions, feel free to ask either myself, or one of your prefects. Prefects, please raise your hands."

A few slow (with one very eager) hands rose into the air, every first year studying the owner like a school assignment. Someone with an Irish accent in the back of the room yelled out, "Don't ask Weasley if ya want to make it to class, kiddies!" which drew laughs all around, except from a red faced Ron and a thin lipped McGonagall. A razor sharp, "Finnegan!" from the professor was all that was needed to silence the crowd.

"Sign-ups for various school clubs will be on the bulletin board starting this week. I remind you "practicing for a gobstones club tournament" is not an adequate enough excuse for taking galleons in a friendly match with a younger student, is it Gibbons?"

McGonagall locked eyes with the lad, who was but a few feet away from Xander. He gave a very squeaky, "No ma'am!" which drew snickers around him and a tiny smile from McGonagall.

She cleared her throat. "Finally, as many of you are aware, we have a new sixth year student with us this year: Alexander Harris. Please join me Mr. Harris, so everyone can see you."

There was a big, wide empty spot right next to McGonagall in the front of the room, but all Xander noticed was every other head swiveling toward him, making him suddenly feel like all four walls were closing in. He'd have to remember to visit the library before classes tomorrow; see if he could find a spell for making a hole you could conveniently crawl into when needed.

He tried smiling, but it was more of a grimace that looked like he needed the restroom.

"Harris!" McGonagall snapped, breaking the spell on the room. He quickly moved next to her: if you have a fondness for your limbs, you push through your embarrassment when McGonagall calls your name.

"Mr. Harris joins us from the United States, specifically Sunnydale, California."

Xander happened to be scanning the crowd when McGonagall rattled off his hometown, and caught Hermione's eyes going incredibly wide at the mention.

McGonagall continued, "Mr. Harris here has discovered his magic very late in life, and Headmaster Dumbledore has been gracious enough to allow him to attend Hogwarts for this year."

"Now," McGonagall started, trying to raise her voice over the tittering of the other Gryffindors. "I know this is very intriguing, but I ask all of you not to overwhelm Mr. Harris with questions. He's had a very difficult last few weeks, so please respect his space and privacy." He beamed at McGonagall, and would have kissed her if social suicide weren't involved.

Regrettably though, as soon as she left the Common Room her words of warning flew right out the window. For the next three hours Xander was bombarded by almost every student wanting to hear his story firsthand.

After telling the slightly modified version of the truth the first few times without any issues, he began to relax and actually enjoy himself. He even added a few embellishments to juice up the details, much to his audiences delight. Most people treated him like a curious visitor, a Muggle that had somehow infiltrated Hogwarts. That was fine with him; he could win them over with his sparkling wit and charming personality.

He was also pleased to notice that Hermione actually listened to McGonagall and avoided speaking with him. Not that he had anything against her, it's just that he had a feeling her large brain picked up on the whole cryptic mention of the Hellmouth. Sure would explain the curious glances she, Ron, and Harry sent his way.

Again, he wasn't going to hide the Hellmouth, but he didn't want to advertise it right off the bat, either; it might be too much for people to swallow in one sitting.

He did get a chance to meet Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, two boys in his year who made a pretty entertaining pair. Seamus, a sandy haired Irishman with a boisterous personality, and Dean Thomas; a tall black boy with a laid back demeanor who was also Ginny Weasley's boyfriend, were best friends who somehow made their differences mesh. They were the Abbott and Costello of Gryffindor, and Xander liked them both immediately.

Finally, after just falling short of his three hundred story recalling estimate, he trudged up the stairs to his dorm; his bed never feeling so inviting. He opened the door and found he was the last to enter. Seamus held court in the area between all six beds, telling a story that had the other occupants totally engrossed.

"So she said, 'Me mam's gonna be home any minute, so you better hurry up', to which I says, 'Darlin, I'll be so fast you won't even know I was there!'" He finished with a flourish as the room exploded in laughter.

"Ah," he said, spotting Xander hovering by the door, "look who it is lads: it's our stranger from a strange land! Looks like you already made yourself at home." He pointed to Xander's lived in bed and surrounding area, set between Neville's and Dean's.

"Uh, yeah; I've been here for a few weeks. Don't worry, I didn't sit naked on anyone's bed or anything."

"Good to know," Dean said over the small laughter.

It didn't escape Xander that two of the only people he had yet to talk to were Ron and Harry. He kept trying to catch their eyes when he was downstairs, but they were very good at avoiding him. Even now in the cramped dorm they still kept a cool distance.

He decided to take the plunge first. "Xander Harris."

"Ron Weasley," he said, giving a small nod.

"Harry Potter."

Xander bounced on the balls of his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "So, the 'Chosen One', huh? Does that come with any perks? Like a lifetime supply of 'Turtle Wax', or a 'Get out of Snape's Class for a Week' pass, which really could be called a 'Get out of Jail Free' card."

Immediately he knew his flustered attempt at humor had been the exact wrong thing to say. The temperature in the room felt like it dropped around twenty degrees, and the gazes passing between Ron, Dean, Neville, and Seamus screamed, "I'd rather be anywhere than here."

But the worst was Harry; the slightly leery looks he'd been giving Xander all night now morphed into flat out mistrust.

"No, it doesn't," he said, his eyes hardening.

The smart move would have been to apologize as fast as humanly possible, and explain that his mouth, while technically attached to his body, liked to go off on its own and say things that got Xander in trouble. But he couldn't make said mouth move, so he stood there in this unpleasant situation and prayed that someone would ease the tension. Besides, Harry Potter didn't look like the kind of guy who would forget what just transpired.

A loud pop filled the room, shaking everyone out of the tense stand-off. Perched in the middle of Xander's bed was a three-tiered chocolate cake with gooey chocolate frosting and cherries.

_Thank you Beamer, _he thought.

At everyone's confused looks, he said a very weak, "Surprise?"

Neville was the first to move. "Where'd that come from?" he said, bending over and examining the cake.

"A house-elf who's getting a very thorough scratching behind her ears."

"Oi, Neville, leave some for the rest of us!" Seamus yelled out, getting off his bed and joining the affronted Gryffindor.

Neville's rude response to the laughing Seamus eased the stillness of the room and broke the tension. For the next hour, the sixth year boys enjoyed chocolate cake and talking about which girls had improved the most over the summer. Xander grew more and more relaxed as the time went on, feeling free to throw in his two cents every now and then. He might not have known many of the particular females in the discussion, but it was a pretty universal language amongst teenage boys.

Even Ron seemed to warm up to him a little when he mentioned he liked the color orange, though he didn't look like he would be engaging Xander in one-on-one conversation anytime soon.

Then there was Harry, who joined in the group and even ate some cake, but who never stopped shifting his eyes toward Xander Harris.


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Special Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

* * *

Living on the cusp of manhood means certain kinds of changes in the average American male's life: like making your own way; finding the girl who takes your virginity; going to college or getting a full-time job; studying first year Charms with eleven year olds.

Okay, so maybe only one of those changes applied to Xander Harris, and unfortunately it wasn't the one he really, really, really, really thought about constantly for the last half decade. Still, actually starting his magical studies came in a relatively close second – even if he was the only person in this class old enough to remember a time parachute pants were hip.

As he was the first to arrive in the classroom (which was a first itself), he sat down and started pulling items out of his messenger bag. Usually he carried at most a pencil and a sticky note on his person where school was involved, but he'd seen Willow properly arrange her workspace enough times that he had the general idea. He laid down his text book, wand, quill, ink, and parchment all at perfect right angles: the very essence of a 'nerd pentagram.'

His right leg bounced up and down while the other students filed in. From what he could see on the faces of the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors shuffling in, they also had that nervous energy that builds up on the first day at a new school. He tried to say hello to as many of them as he could, but whether they were nervous about the class, or the guy who was a full foot taller than them, he didn't receive too many "hey man's" back.

The last seat was filled with about three minutes before the bell was set to ring; which meant there was plenty of time to chit-chat with a fellow student. That was the one part of classroom etiquette he had mastered long ago.

He turned to the Ravenclaw boy on his left, who wore glasses that dwarfed his decidedly small face. "Hey, I'm Xander. First day of Charms; gotta admit, I'm nervous guy over here. I just hope Flitwick doesn't have us try anything too nutty on the first day. I mean, sure, who wouldn't love to turn water into wine? But it took J.C. thirty-two years to figure that one out, so I'm thinking that it might take me just a bit longer."

He paused. "Oh wait, that's Transfiguration. Wow, forget everything I just said. Anyway, what do you think?"

The boy blinked owlishly, his mouth agape. Apparently he was terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.

With an awkward smile, Xander turned to the boy on his right.

"Hey, I'm Xander. First day of Charms; gotta admit, I'm nervous guy over here."

This time he had a willing participant. "Yeah, me too. I'm Ethan."

The boy looked kind of familiar, but it took a second for Xander to place him. "Oh yeah," he said. "You were the first one to get sorted yesterday. Lucky devil."

"It wasn't so bad," Ethan said, his shoulders straightening just a touch.

"You handled yourself pretty solid. Me? I have this little phobia when talking headwear is involved."

Ethan smirked at Xander, running his hand through his naturally perfect hair. "That part was easy. My older sister kept telling me all summer that in order to get sorted I was going to have to ride a centaur through the Forbidden Forest."

"That had to be a relief to find out you just put a hat on your head. But I mean come on, who would believe you had to ride a centaur?"

Ethan grew very quiet. Xander had the decency to hold in his laughter.

"Well, at least you know how to ride a horse now," Xander said diplomatically.

"What about you?" Ethan had a curl to his lip only the truly aggrieved can pull off. "Aren't you embarrassed taking classes with first year students?"

Xander took a deep breath. He'd known this line of conversation was bound to come up sooner or later; especially when dealing with honest to a fault prepubescents. He figured he had two options here: he could handle it like an older, wiser teenager, or he could just bust out straight sarcasm.

Sarcasm it is.

Xander scratched his head. "Wait, this a class for First Years?" Xander sat up and started looking wildly across the room. "Are you sure?" He sat back down, and leaned over toward Ethan. "Man, I really need to have a word with my guidance counselor."

At that moment, Professor Flitwick emerged from a side room at the front of the class.

"Hello everyone!" he said after climbing onto a precariously stacked pile of books. "Welcome to first year Charms!"

"Now," he said, the books teetering below him, "in my humble opinion, Charms is the backbone of any witch or wizard's magical knowledge. I promise that all of you will eventually use a Charm in everyday life, more than likely several a day. If you can master Charms, you will understand some of the very rules and reasons magic operates as it does."

Flitwick continued to the attentive class. "With that said, can someone give me an example of a Charm that they're familiar with?"

After a few seconds, a girl on the far side of the room hesitantly raised her hand.

"Ah yes, Miss Foster. Always glad to see a Ravenclaw getting things started!" Flitwick said happily about his house.

The girl looked as if she wouldn't mind melting into a puddle, but to her credit pressed on. "I've heard my mum use the Summoning Charm on my baby brother when he got too far away at the park."

"An excellent example Miss Foster, and one that is used quite often, not just by harried mothers." Flitwick raised his wand toward his desk. "_Accio feathers!"_ he cried out. Instantly a box zoomed from the desktop into his outstretched hand.

"As you've just witnessed, the incantation for the Summoning Charm is "_Accio,"_ followed by the item you wish to retrieve. You will learn how to perform this charm in your fourth year. Any other examples?"

When no one raised their hands, Flitwick tutted his tongue against his teeth. "No one knows of any other charms?" he asked incredulously.

To Xander's irritation, Flitwick zeroed in on him. "Mr. Harris," the tiny professor said with relish, "I know for a fact that you have learned several other charms in the last few weeks: I assigned the work myself. Please be so kind as to teach the class one of them."

"Umm," Xander sat forward in his seat. "There's the eh," he stuttered, "I can't think of the exact name for it right now, but it's basically the 'make it go away and disappear' spell. I really tried to make that one fly for a few days, hoping if I pulled it off on that pile of work you assigned me, you might be so impressed you totally wouldn't care about all the other work I didn't do. But it's a little above my pay grade, if you catch my drift."

To the thoroughly confused class, a laughing Flitwick said, "I believe the name of the spell you so eloquently described is '_Evanesco,'_ otherwise known as the Vanishing Spell. Very useful, but one you won't learn until fifth year. Well, for most of you at least."

"Any others?" No one else raised their hands. "Very well, if no one else can think of an example, then I think we should jump right into the fray," Flitwick continued. "Today we will begin working on our first charm."

Nervous chatter broke out amongst the students. "Now, now," Flitwick said, quieting down the crowd. "Don't worry; it's one of the easier spells to learn, and ironically one of the oldest spells known to record. The name of the spell is '_Wingardium Leviosa,' _known as the Hover charm. Say it with me class."

"_Wingardium Leviosa," _the members of the class repeated, with most absolutely butchering the pronunciation.

"Very good." Flitwick raised his wand. "It's also accompanied by a flick and swish." Flitwick demonstrated the exact maneuver. "Now, one more time, incorporating the flick and swish."

The class said "_Wingardium Leviosa"_ once more, with many students doing the wrong wand movements despite just seeing them performed.

Flitwick hopped down off his make-shift podium and stood in front of the two tiered u-shaped seating arrangement. "Very good class, very good for a first try. Please take out your books, and turn to the first chapter; you will find this exact spell in the very front."

As the students flipped to the proper page, Flitwick added, "Please take one practice feather out of the box when it's passed to you. I will be walking around the class to help anyone with questions. Please remember that I'm not expecting everyone to get it right in this class period, so don't fret if you can't make your feather lift off your desk."

Xander took one of the feathers from the box, and internally did a happy dance: '_Wingardium Leviosa'_ was one of the few spells he had down cold. Granted, he could only raise an object a few inches, which meant the feather wouldn't need a parachute on the way down or anything, but it was certainly better than what these kids would pull off today.

He wondered if it was odd to be this excited to outdo eleven year olds?

_Eh_, he thought, _who cares_.

"You may begin," Flitwick said as he started walking around.

Obviously there were no success stories in the first few minutes. There was one little girl though, who somehow managed to explode her feather, giving her face a sooty, 'Wile E. Coyote' quality. Luckily Flitwick was there immediately, fixing her complexion before permanent embarrassment settled in.

After sufficient time passed so he didn't look like a complete teachers pet, Xander performed the Hovering charm nonchalantly, making sure to swish and flick. Like his past attempts, the feather rose slowly, in small increments.

He allowed himself a small smile of pride. It wasn't often he was the pace setter for class work. Out of nowhere he was gripped with the sudden desire to see how far he could push it. Maybe it was a by-product of actually excelling at this. He focused his wand and mind on the floating feather, almost willing it to rise just a few inches more. Nothing happened at first, which at Sunnydale High, would have been enough to get him to stop and never try again.

But he wasn't in Sunnydale.

He refused to blink, his jaw shaking from the incredible tension. His effort was rewarded as the feather nudged upward just a fraction of an inch, which only served to make him focus that much harder. The muscles in his wand arm tightened as he directed every last bit of will he had stashed onto the feather.

Everything in his vision grew hazy, though he could see the tip of his wand start to shake up and down, slightly at first, then reaching earthquake status as his muscles throbbed from exertion. Just before he felt like passing out, the feather shot up another few inches, as if caught on a gust of wind.

Air exploded out of his lungs as his wand arm and feather crashed onto the table, startling the people around him. He tried to catch his breath while rubbing his suddenly throbbing temples. His hands came away from his forehead damp with perspiration..

"It's the first class; you don't need to give yourself a heart attack," Ethan hissed quietly. He had yet to make his feather move, though it probably had something to do with his wand arm flopping around like grease on a skillet.

"No need to get touchy because you're putting up a goose egg right now."

"What does that mean?"

Xander leaned in closer. "It means that you're swinging your arm around like a maniac. Try it like this." He demonstrated the proper wand movements in half time.

"Oh, I just thought it meant you're a git," Ethan said, concentrating on his unmoving feather, a haughty expression on his face.

"There's no need to call me – wait, being a git is bad, right?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Oh – then hey!"

Flitwick chose that moment to walk in front of their table.

"Mr. Harris; I saw your feather floating from the other side of the room. Bravo, my boy! Bravo!" he squeaked happily.

He turned his attention to Ethan. "And you Mr. Abbott; a little less movement of your wand, and I think you shall be fine."

Another mini explosion rocked the room, again caused by the same poor girl. Flitwick scurried over to her as quickly as his little legs could carry him.

Following Flitwick's advice, Ethan came much closer to the accurate wand movement; even if he did look grumpy the entire time he did it. This time, Xander chose maturity over sarcasm, and didn't say anything.

It was nearing the end of class. Xander rested his chin on his left hand, elbow firmly planted on the table top. He'd mastered the Hover charm to the point where the feather was moving those few inches so smoothly it looked like he had it dangling from a string. It'd been an impressive sight thirty minutes ago when he first did it: now he was just bored.

"Well done, Miss Reynolds! Now you're getting the hang of it!"

Xander looked over to Flitwick standing on the other side of the room, where he seemed to be physically forcing himself not to jump up and down in place. A Gryffindor girl had finally become the only other person in class to get the spell working properly. She beamed as her feather floated a good three to four feet over her head.

Xander's eyebrows creased: she sure didn't look like she was working very hard, either.

Must be beginners luck.

Lunch time came rolling around a few hours later at just the perfect moment for Xander and his growling stomach. Who knew his body would start jonesing for the global culinary dare that was English cuisine?

He climbed the dank steps out of the dungeon, glad to see the sunlight once more. He'd just finished his morning off with second year Potions with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and was eager to get to the Great Hall and decompress.

The Professor of the class, Mr. Slughorn, seemed to be a nice guy, mainly on the up and up. He'd waddled his massive girth up to Xander during class and told him that if there was anything he needed, to not hesitate to ask. Xander had heard that same line quite often since coming to Hogwarts, but it never failed to make him feel glow-y inside.

But despite his genuine desire to educate, Slughorn made no bones about fawning over certain students of privilege. Xander wasn't exactly a dynamo at reading social cues, but even he could see Slughorn's lips puckering up on particular backsides. You could say the only thing more impressive than Slughorn's sizable gut and walrus mustache was his networking skills.

Xander turned into the hallway adjacent to the main courtyard. It was packed with students getting used to each other after summer break. Most people seemed genuinely happy to be back, which was most likely aided by the still balmy and summery weather. Xander did his best to avoid bumping into any of the migrating groups that inevitably took up whole walking lanes.

Xander was still getting quite a few glances in his direction, but unfortunately that was to be expected for the short term. It was really starting to wear on him, though. Even if he normally strolled down the halls of Sunnydale High with his hands firmly planted in pockets and head studying the floor, he did so without the 'All Eyes on Me' feeling on the back of his neck.

Good fortune presented itself in the form of Neville further up the hallway. Xander hurried to catch up, ignoring the murmuring and finger pointing.

"Neville!" he yelled out when he got a little closer. Neville's head swiveled back and forth. Then an easy smile broke out on his face once he looked back and saw Xander waving.

"Hey, how were your first classes?" Neville asked once Xander fell in next to him.

"Well, no one's going to be looking for me to autograph their body parts, but I think it went pretty good." The truth was he was absolutely bursting, but he preferred to play it cool; he did have _some _manliness in him.

"Hi Xander!"

Startled, he realized Neville hadn't been walking by himself, but was with two Gryffindor girls from his year whose names completely eluded Xander. He remembered last night in the common room thinking they were both very pretty in a Cordette kind of way, but that was the extent of his recall.

Neville must have noticed his anxiousness, because he took mercy on the new kid.

"You remember Lavender and Parvati."

"Of course," Xander lied, "how are you ladies this fine morning?"

"Fantastic," Lavender said, her bright blue eyes staring dreamily at some imaginary point as she hugged her books closer to her chest.

"Don't mind her," Parvati said, nudging a zoned out Lavender with her hip. "She got some good news from Professor Firenze in Divination and she's been like this ever since."

Lavender finally shook free from her daydream. "Did you say something to me?"

Parvati lifted her hand as if to say, "See what I mean?"

"What was the good news?" asked Neville.

Lavender squeezed her books to her body like she was trying to choke them out, but smiled a megawatt smile.

"Oh nothing," she said airily. "He just said I would probably get what I want this year."

Xander scoffed. "Well at least he didn't vague it up for you."

"You don't believe in Divination?" Parvati asked. She had an eyebrow upturned and looked ready to strike.

"Do I think people can see the future?"

As the words left his lips, his legs up and decided to stop working. It was because his brain suddenly overloaded, a barrage of terrible images, devastating feelings and thoughts - mainly about the Codex Prophecy - hitting him like a punch in the gut.

"Are you okay?" Parvati asked carefully when he didn't answer. He realized how odd he must look, standing there with no expresion on his face. He tried laughing off his temporary trip down the seedy part of memory lane.

"Oh yeah, just imagining me seeing the winning Powerball numbers in advance." To his relief, they just shook their heads and smiled, probably just amused by his Muggle talk they had no idea about. He continued. "It would be tough, but I think I could deal with being a millionaire bachelor of leisure. I mean sure, I'd need a new wardrobe and expensive car, but somehow I'd plow through. Oh, I know," he said with excitement, "maybe I would get a rockin' singles pad in Santo Esmerejón, you know, for the weekends and federal holidays."

Both Parvati and Lavender suddenly perked up. "I've always wanted to go to Santo Esmerejón!" Lavender squealed. "Parvati, Padma, and I talked about taking a trip there after Hogwarts. They say it has some of the best shops and dance clubs in the Wizarding world!"

"Padma?" Xander asked.

"That's Parvati's twin sister; she's a Ravenclaw," Neville replied.

"Have you been there?" asked Parvati. Both girls hung on his response; even Neville looked mildly interested.

He only wished Buffy could see him at that moment, impressing his classmates, looking cool and hip. Maybe she'd even swoon over him. There could definitely be some swooning to be had.

"Oh yeah," he sad breezily. "I hit up the town on my way to England."

The girls exploded in giggles and fell into each other. "You have to tell us _everything_," Parvati stressed once she regained her calm. "My parents want Padma and me to leave the country once school is done." Parvati trailed off, to which Lavender gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze. Parvati seemed to gain strength from the gesture, and continued in a much livelier voice. "So I want to make sure we go to the absolute best place possible; we can't waste an opportunity like that."

"Well," Xander stumbled. How did he admit his entire knowledge of Santo Esmerejón was the Portkey hub and it's smokin' hot advertisement, and not sound like a complete tool?

He was saved from thinking of a 'Grade-A' lie by a massive shoulder slamming into his arm, causing a blast of pins and needles all the way down to his fingers. A group of four, which included the offender, kept walking in the opposite direction, all the while cackling like jackasses.

"Hey!" Xander yelled out of reflex as he rubbed his aching arm. This action had the unfortunate side-effect of making the boys turn around. The green and silver of their ties and trim glinted in the sunlight, and they all looked at Xander with bad intentions.

The one that had hit Xander's shoulder and the boy on his right were massive, Cro-Magnon types who looked like the only thing they did very well was break things. Their laughter was more like grunts, and they even had the audacity to crack their knuckles like hired heavies.

The other two were more refined bullies; one tall and lanky with platinum blond hair and an angular face; the other a scarecrow with skin who had a blotchy complexion below his stringy brown hair. These two were obviously the leaders of this little band of scary men. In a way they were nastier than their behemoth bodyguards; there was an intelligence behind their smirks and frigid stares.

"You say something, Mudblood?" the brown haired one sneered.

Gasps arose from the crowd that was starting to circle the situation. Leave it to teenagers to sniff out a confrontation as soon as it started.

"Watch your mouth, Nott!" Lavender yelled. By the horrified look on almost everyone's face, it was pretty obvious to Xander that being called a "Mudblood" was not a positive thing.

Nott smirked as he said, "I'd much rather watch _your _mouth on my -"

"That's enough," Neville said to the cackling group. He took position in front of a scandalized Lavender and Parvati, doing his best to stand tall. Xander could tell this was a pose Neville wasn't quite comfortable in, which made his respect for the boy increase dramatically.

It was the blonds turn to mock. "What are you going to do Longbottom? Get your mummy and daddy to speak gibberish until we run away screaming?"

For a split second, Neville's froze solid and his face went chalk white. "At least my father isn't a Death Eater rotting in a cell, Malfoy."

Xander's eyes widened at the sudden reveal. Being called a "Mudblood" now made a sickening, skin crawling kind of sense.

The smile and laughing sneer were gone from Malfoy, replaced by blazing hate. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," Neville said with determination.

Malfoy's hand was twitching by his side, right next to his wand. "There's four of us, Longbottom, and all you have are two idiotic twits and a Yank Mudblood who can't even stun a spider."

"You're really counting Crabbe and Goyle?" Parvati said. "I'd say combined they'd make three-fourths of a wizard at best."

Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd. The two large boys looked at each other in stupid confusion, before one of them pieced together the fact that they were being insulted.

"We don't need wands to hurt you," the slightly smarter one said, his words mashing together and making him difficult to understand. But his leering toward the Indian girl conveyed everything he was thinking, and it kicked Xander into gear.

"Guys," Xander said, his hands upturned in an attempt at a friendly gesture. He was struggling to force some casualness into his tone, but since this was his fault, he had to try and diffuse this before it escalated. He was going to try the peacemaker routine, which had never really worked for him in the past. Like ever. But he certainly wasn't going to try and fight his way out of this; not unless Malfoy was willing to sit really still and get levitated two inches off the floor.

"I know Slytherins and Gryffindors like to do their best Hatfield versus McCoy impression, but we don't always have to fight, you know. Sure, you hate Muggleborns with the passion of a thousand suns, but that doesn't mean you don't have your good qualities, too. I guess what I'm saying is, why don't we just let bygones be bygones?"

Xander, along with the crowd, stood in rapt attention, waiting to see what happened next. Malfoy was the first of the Slytherins to make a move, and that involved standing almost nose to nose with Xander.

The bad news? Xander's streak of failure continued.

The absolute hate coming off the blond was staggering. "It's bad enough," Malfoy began, his words chilling to the bone, "that great men like my father are in Azkaban while filthy Mudblood scum like you walk these halls. You're a bloody joke from our insane headmaster. No one wants you here, you American prick." Spittle flecks hit a stunned Xander's face.

Malfoy continued, this time speaking more to the crowd. "There's a new day coming very soon for everyone, but I don't think you have to worry." He leaned in that much closer, his eyes boring into Xander's. "I don't see you lasting that long."

Malfoy never took his eyes away from Xander's. This was more than a simple shoving match and taunts; this was someone legitimately threatening his life who had the ability and connections to make it happen. And just because Xander didn't have magical parents.

There was a twinge in the base of Xander's spine; for the first time, he wished he was back in the relative safety of the Hellmouth.

"Back off, Malfoy," Lavender said.

Nott answered, "You shut your mouth, bitch!"

Instantly Xander forgot to be nervous and terrified: He pointed a finger at Nott and fired out, "Don't talk to her that way!" at the same time Neville yelled, "Stop it!"

Nott whipped out his wand, pointing it right between Xander's eyes. A half-second later everyone had their wands out and trained on a member of the other group.

Everyone except Xander, that is; he fumbled around in his pocket for his wand, finally ripping the seam as he freed it from it's confines. No one seemed to notice, thankfully.

Before Xander could worry about performing a spell he had no confidence would work, the crowd behind Malfoy began to part. Professor McGonagall emerged from the students, looking horrified at the sight in front of her.

"Put down your wands now! What is the meaning of this?" Her voice was so shrill it could have shattered glass.

No one spoke up as they slowly lowered their wands to their sides, so she turned to Neville. "Longbottom, I asked you a question!" she snapped.

The solid Neville of the last few minutes was replaced by the nervous, shy Neville Xander was more familiar with.

"Nothing professor," he stammered. "Just a little misunderstanding."

McGonagall's nostrils flared. "A little misunderstanding?" she said sarcastically. A few of the spectators laughed, which caused the professor to remember that there was an audience to her inevitable dressing down.

"Everyone to their common rooms or the Great Hall!" Her tone left no room for argument. There were a few groans and mutterings from the crowd, but everyone quickly broke apart, talking excitedly about what had just happened.

Once they were alone in the hall, McGonagall continued, this time addressing the Slytherins. "I suppose you think it was just a little misunderstanding, too?" It was obvious she hated even having to play this charade, but once Nott and Malfoy nodded in agreement (and Crabbe and Goyle stared blankly), she took a resigned breath.

"Very well. Since no one used any spells in the halls, I will not assign detention."

Before anyone could relax, she added, "But with everything going on, I am terribly disappointed that Slytherins and Gryffindors can't even go twenty-four hours without being at each others throats. Now is not the time to be fighting with each other. I expect much more of my house, and I suspect Professor Snape will say the same once I make him aware of this _misunderstanding._" She looked at each student gravely, at least each student that could make eye contact with the ashamed professor. "If you learn nothing else at Hogwarts, I pray you learn this fact."

When no one said anything, McGonagall finished. "Very well. Off to wherever you're going."

McGonagall stood there as the groups slowly turned back to their original direction, but not before Malfoy and Nott gave especially powerful sneers toward Xander that spoke of later promises.

"Well," Xander began once they made some distance behind them, "I know who's getting axed from my Christmas Card list this year." It was a feeble joke that sounded lame even to his ears.

"Ugggh!" Lavender vented, totally ignoring Xander. "I hate _Theodore Nott_," the name rolled off her tongue like a curse word. "He's such a pig! And what's he doing hanging around those three? I didn't even think he liked Malfoy?"

"Times are changing," Parvati said. "I think being a Slytherin with a Death Eater father is good enough for Nott, now."

Neville, who had been quiet this whole time, studied Xander with a serious expression. "You'll have to watch yourself this year. After today, there won't be anyone in Slytherin who doesn't know your name."

"Yah me!" Xander joked, shaking his hands in a mock cheer. The truth was he was walking on trembling legs. Everything that was wrong about this magical world – everything he'd chosen to ignore in the name of childhood fantasy - just got shoved in his face, and his system could barely handle the information. He had never been a "marked man" before, but he realized it was yet another thing to admire about Buffy; she had to live with a non-stop target on her back ever since she became the Slayer. He'd tasted that nasty dish for two minutes and already he wanted to send it back to the kitchen.

Plus, there were now so many questions about that encounter that he desperately wanted to figure out; like what did Malfoy mean about Neville's parents, and what happened to Malfoy's father? And how did he know Xander had that trouble with the spider? Which reminded him -

"Oh, and not to split hairs or anything, but I didn't have trouble stunning a spider, I had trouble _freezing_ a -"

He stopped dead in his tracks. He'd just figured out how Malfoy had found out, or more accurately, _who _had told him.

For the second time, Parvati, Neville, and Lavender looked at the silent, unmoving new kid strangely. "What is it?" asked Neville.

Xander started walking again and grumbled, "Let's just say if Snape was my lawyer, he'd be getting disbarred right about now."

It was five after seven by the time Xander strolled into the library. He'd crashed into the common room a little while ago, tired and achy from an exhausting day of schoolwork. Before he could go upstairs to his room in search of the blissful release that was aspirin, a second year relayed a message from Hermione, saying to meet her in the library instead of Gryffindor Tower. He'd completely forgotten they were supposed to meet period, so it was doubly irritating to haul his heavy messenger bag through the halls once more.

He searched vainly for the prefect, but he had trouble finding all the desks and available spaces in this library. It still felt flat out wrong and ill-fitting, like a t-shirt from childhood. He would never understand how the place Sunnydale High School stored its books ever became the closest thing to a home he'd known, but he was thankful that it had.

He finally spotted Hermione's bushy head of hair at a table near the back stacks. If he thought it looked untamed yesterday, today she was like the Bride of Frankenstein.

"I know, I know, sorry I'm late," he said as he slid into the chair across from her. He started grabbing books out of his bag and piling them on the table.

"That's quite alright."

He paused. Hermione's voice sounded like she was sitting on a thumb tack.

"Err, thanks," he said after a moment when she didn't elaborate. Her entire body was wound tight like a spring, and the excess energy was draining through her nervously tapping fingers. Even to his somewhat dulled senses she was calmly freaking out. That in itself was unexpected, since she was so confident when they met yesterday.

"So, I didn't really have any problems with figuring out the classwork today," he continued. "But I was wondering if you could show me how to do "_Wingardium Leviosa"_ with more 'oomph.'"

She nodded like a bobble head doll. "Of course, of course," came quickly from her lips. Then her left hand found the right, and it started twisting her fingers. "But before we went over today's work, I was wondering if it might be easier if we got to know each other on a personal level first."

At his dubious look, she promptly added. "That way, it may give me a better understanding of how best to tutor you."

He opened his mouth, ready to tell her that he was tired and to save the ice-breaker for another day. But then the memory of last night came back to him, and he realized why she was so jumpy.

First figuring out where Malfoy got his info, now this? He couldn't remember having two relatively strong insights in the last year, let alone on the same day.

He folded his hands on the desk, and said calmly, "Let me take a wild stab at what you're looking for; McGonagall threw out the name of my hometown last night, and now you want to know if I know what you know that you think I might know?"

"Yes."

His eyebrows shot up. "Wow, you understood that? I'm not even sure I did." After nodding in appreciation, he said, "Anyway, yeah, I know Sunnydale is on top of the Hellmouth."

Hearing her hypothesis confirmed was like an all-access pass to Question-ville. "This is incredible!" she blurted out. "Of course I had my suspicions last night, but Professor McGonagall asked us not to disturb you, and I wanted to research in the library before I said anything. No one from the Hellmouth in written record has actually proven to be magical. Unless you didn't grow up there, I assume that could be the reason? Did you grow up there? And how actually did you come to know the true nature of Sunnydale? I've read that the populace for the most part is ignorant. Is that true, or are the books mistaken?"

And just like that, she leaned forward and eagerly waited for his response. To what particular question, Xander had no idea; it had all come out in one big, disorienting mush of a question hair ball. Still, her face shone with an inquisitiveness that reminded him of a particular red head, so he did his best.

"Proud to say the Harris family has been living in the evil boundaries of Sunnydale for the last one hundred years; we don't let a pesky mystical epicenter of darkness and sin dictate where we cohabitate. Plus, it makes for better housing values."

Hermione's body now hummed from absolute excitement. "This is truly historic!" she said. "If your case proves to be the first rather than some sort of aberration, the ramifications for managing the Hellmouth are incredible!"

"I wouldn't count on anymore like me," he said.

Hermione was taken aback by the firm answer. "How can you be so sure?"

"Oh, ahhh -" Too late he realized he said more than planned. "Obviously, because I'm one of a kind!" He topped off the brutal lie with a deflecting cheesy grin.

Hermione actually laughed just a tad, which allowed Xander to sigh in relief. "Yes, so I've heard. You know, not many people almost get into a duel their first day of classes."

He groaned. "People are talking about that?"

At Hermione's long look, Xander groaned even louder. "Of course they are; a high school is a high school anywhere."

"You do understand that not only are you breaking about a dozen rules, but with your limited magical knowledge, it would be a bad idea to get into a duel with anyone; even Crabbe and Goyle."

"Hey, I'm not looking to make a splash any which way, but you don't understand; they came after me because I'm not in their pureblood club. I didn't even do anything," he said.

"Believe me, I know all too well; I'm also a Muggleborn, remember? Whatever you heard today, know that I've gone through it for the last five years."

From the ink stains on her fingers, disheveled appearance, two-ton bookbag, and overall scholarly air, Hermione's status as a bookworm would never be in doubt to anyone with sight. But sitting across from her right at this moment, with a resigned yet defiant vibe radiating from her body, Xander knew that there was more to this girl than just a love for knowledge.

"It sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yes. It does." Hermione said simply. She shuffled some paperwork in front of her, and said in a much friendlier tone, "Anyway, back to the Hellmouth." She hastily added, "That is, if you don't mind."

He shrugged his shoulders, so she continued. "As I asked before: Were you aware of the Hellmouth before you were told of your magical abilities?"

"I found out about a year ago."

"How?" Hermione asked from the edge of her seat.

"Fangs. Ridges. Yellow eyes. Drinks blood. Stake to the heart go poof. Pretty self explanatory. Unless lupus is a lot worse than people let on. After that, I met some people who were locked in, and I got the full disclosure."

"Fascinating," she said, furiously scribbling in a notebook. "That actually leads into my next question: Do many people know?"

"Umm, like I said, there's a few of us, but most people prefer to keep their heads firmly planted in the sand."

Hermione stopped writing and looked up at him once more. "That is so bizarre!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands out. "The Wizarding world has to bend over backwards to try and hide ourselves from the Muggle world, and yet from what I've read, I doubt anyone in Sunnydale would notice if a spell was performed in the middle of the street. I mean, how can any general population be so unaware of the goings on in their community?"

"Beats me," he said as he rubbed his hand over his face. "Especially when the high school newspaper has an obituary section; but I guess people have an easier time believing a barbecue fork to the neck epidemic rather than vampire attack."

Hermione waited for him to laugh. Her eyes grew wide when she realized she'd be waiting a long time.

"Oh my," she squeaked.

"Yep; home sweet home," he said with mock sincerity.

"I never realized it would be that dangerous."

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you serious? You never realized _the mouth of hell_ might be dangerous? There're like four words alone in that sentence that scare the crap out of me."

Hermione's skin flushed. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong."

"No, it's okay," he sighed, rubbing his face once more. "It's been a long day, and I didn't mean to snap."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, but I still should apologize; I didn't mean to make light of your home or situation. I can't imagine it's been easy, and I'm not making it any better."

After dropping the understatement of the century, she grew tentative again. "That said, there is one thing I want to ask you, if that's alright?"

Knowing that he needed to treat this conversation like pulling off a band-aid – that is, very fast and all at once – he said, "That's fine; ask away."

Hermione started looking through her bag, taking her eyes off him. "Have you ever heard of the Slayer?"

Thank god she was paying attention to finding a book or whatever it was, because if she'd been watching Xander, she would have noticed him go stiff as a board.

"Like the band?" He was using every lying trick he knew to try and hide his shock. As it was, his voice cracked like he was going through puberty again.

Hermione turned to him in confusion. "What? No, not a band, a girl." She finally hauled out a very old leather bound book with no engravings or words on the front.

"I'm actually not surprised you're unfamiliar; I doubt there are more than a few people in the Wizarding world that have ever heard of her." She slammed the book between them, and started flipping through the pages.

"Then how do you know about it?" Beads of sweat trickled down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin.

"I read quite a bit." She finally stopped turning the pages, ending up on an ink drawing of some tribeswoman.

Xander took a closer look. The solid pen strokes around her head looked like long, matted hair. There were lines on the face that most likely symbolized some sort of marking or design, and her mouth was drawn open in a wild snarl. She was crouched like a tiger, with a stake in her right hand and her left pulled back into a fist. Even in drawing form, she looked like she could kill anything that came across her path.

"This is the Slayer," Hermione said, jabbing the picture. "Or more accurately, the first Slayer. From what I can gather, several thousand years ago a group of shamans somehow imbibed a local girl with some essence or power in order to help them fight the demon population."

"Is it always a girl?" He asked, trying to play dumb.

"Yes," she said. "The shamans believed that a young female would be 'easier to manage,'" Hermione said with revulsion. There was no hiding her feelings on that particular detail.

She continued. "For better or worse, they were successful: a Slayer is stronger and faster than any normal human; they can heal much quicker, too. Also, once a Slayer is called, they develop a preternatural ability to fight and certain skills in demonic detection that are second to none. Then, after a Slayer is killed, the essence passes on to another young girl, and through an innate desire to fight evil, she continues the campaign against demons and the like."

He tapped his fingers on the table top as he looked at the ceiling. "Hmm, just one girl? That's too bad."

"Too bad!" Hermione nearly shrieked, sending him scurrying to the back half of his seat. In fact, they had suddenly drawn the attention of quite a few people in the library, including an angry looking librarian.

Hermione ignored all of this.

"These poor girls," she hissed, "are usually stolen from their families to train from the youngest age possible by an insidious group called the Watcher's Council."

Those trickles down his back turned into the Amazon freakin' River. He absolutely struggled to maintain a calm facade. Luckily Hermione was so into her tirade, she might not have noticed a bomb drop.

"The Watcher's Council originated from those first shamans, and since that point have made it their duty to treat the Slayer like a weapon to be wielded rather than a human being."

She continued, laughing a mirthless laugh. "Can you imagine your entire life being geared to constantly fight alone, simply because you were chosen in some cosmic joke? And you couldn't ever stop, because you not only _had_ the abilities to save lives, but you had some man or woman standing next to you, doing nothing except forcing your constant service and loyalty through mental manipulation and guilt. The only time you could stop was when you died, which unfortunately happened at quite a young age for most."

Her eyes shined with just a hint of tears. "But that doesn't matter for the Watchers; they just find the next Slayer and move on. They're a deplorable group and I'm thankful the Ministry has nothing to do with them."

He felt frozen to his seat, forced to watch this train wreck of emotion and discovery about something he had already known but until now not really understood. But hearing the Watcher's Council described so succinctly and viciously made him thank God that Giles was in charge of Buffy's training, and not some by the book android.

"I'm sorry," he said, the lie melting into truth. "I was just thinking of how great it would be to have a bunch of people out there fighting. I didn't know the other stuff."

"How could you know?" She said, giving him a thin smile. "Anyway, the reason I brought it up is that in this book, it said the Slayer is quite often known to patrol the Hellmouth and surrounding area."

"She is? I've never seen her around," he said with little flair.

"She might not be in Sunnydale, but it's at least worth looking into." Hermione handed the book to Xander. "This book has a lot of other information that might help you when you get back home."

"Thanks," he said, putting the book in his bag to read later.

He meant it too. He still wouldn't tell Hermione about knowing Buffy, but that was only to protect him while he was at Hogwarts. He knew that if push came to shove and she did somehow find out, she would guard that secret as closely as any of her own. She had proven the kind of person she was with her actions in the last thirty seconds.

In a foreign world with no real friends or confidantes, that was enough right now for Xander.

"Would you mind not telling anyone about the Hellmouth?" Xander asked. "I just don't want to deal with a lot of questions."

"Of course."

That both sat there in awkward silence after the last few moments of heated conversation. Not knowing what to say or do next, and without Hermione offering any suggestions, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"You're good friends with Harry Potter, right?"

Hermione's lips turned up. "I am, and I heard you had quite the introduction last night."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "So he told you, huh?"

"That you said something about how great being the 'Chosen One' is?" she said with a touch of humor. "Yes, he let it slip. It was probably not the right thing to say, in case you were wondering."

"Oh, believe me, there was no wondering on my part."

"You know," Hermione began as he she started grabbing other books from her bag. "He asked Ron and I this morning if we thought you were a Death Eater."

Xander looked at her in alarm, unable to tell if she was joking or not. "And?"

Hermione arched her eyebrow. "I said there was no way; both Dumbledore and the Ministry had invited you, so there was nothing to worry about."

"Did he believe you?"

"Not at first." She was maddening in her vagueness.

When she started reading from a Charms book instead of answering, Xander said, "Soooo?"

Hermione looked up and blinked a few times. "Oh, yes. Once I said you were more likely just nervous and insensitive to his or, most likely, anyone's feelings, he agreed and let it go."

With a cheery smile, she said, "Now, you mentioned something about "_Wingardium Leviosa?_"

It was Xander's turn to blink repeatedly.


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Special Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

* * *

Tomorrow was Saturday, and Xander was this close to counting the minutes until Friday was kaput. He couldn't remember ever having a week drag on like this. As he slipped his pre-knotted red and gold tie over his head, every part of him ached from a combination of overuse and lack of sleep. Even his hair hurt, and that was an altogether new, not so wonderful, experience.

The ironic thing he'd discovered was that there was nothing magical about learning magic; you had to put the time and effort into it just like anything else. Plus the Hogwarts professors were more demanding than any teachers he'd ever had. In the past few weeks since classes started, he'd written more essays, read more books, and performed more practical applications than he could remember ever doing at Sunnydale High. It'd gotten so bad that Madame Pince, the eagle eyed librarian, knew him by sight, and her sight was of the scary, judgmental variety.

He was still thrilled with Hogwarts and magic in general, but it was safe to say the full-on, lovey dovey honeymoon period was over.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead; there was no way he had enough time to run down to the Great Hall and get some breakfast, which meant the distinct possibility of a mind numbing headache before lunch.

He cursed himself for grabbing those extra twenty minutes of sleep, though it did mean getting a solo bathroom. Sharing a bathroom with five other dudes took some getting used to. In fact, he still waited until the middle of the night to do a number two.

Satisfied that he didn't leave anything in his dorm, he hitched up his bag and headed down the stairs to the Common Room. There were still a few minutes before classes began, so there was a smattering of people laying about, doing their best to wake up and face the overcast day.

His first class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and as a matter of principle he refused to be there one second longer than necessary. So he found an empty spot next to a barely awake Dean and Ginny.

"Hey," he said as he plopped down like a rag doll on the couch.

Dean nodded back, but Ginny, whose head was resting comfortably on her boyfriends shoulder, said, "Mornin'. Where are you off to?"

"Defense."

Ginny did a combo of a wince and yawn.

"What year?" Dean asked.

"Second years. Still learnin' those basics," he said in a fake, jaunty tone.

Ginny rubbed her bleary eyes. "And I bet Snape is totally compassionate to your situation," she said.

"Oh yeah, he's a real doll," he said sarcastically, which he was finding difficult to do this early. "I especially like the part where I'm the designated class guinea pig." Snape had taken immense pleasure in humiliating Xander at every opportunity. The day last week when each member of the first year class used him to practice the Jelly-Legs Jinx had been particularly vicious on his self confidence.

"Could be worse," Dean said. He stretched like a cat after a nap. "You could have every professor give you loads of impossible work, and make you do it all non-verbally."

"Awwww," Ginny joked, poking Dean in the stomach. "How ever will you survive?"

Dean squirmed under the assault. "Hey, you're my girlfriend; you're supposed to understand my pain. Besides, you'll be going through the exact same next year."

"True," Ginny said as she sat up. "But I'm sure I'll whine about it a whole lot less."

Xander laughed at both Dean's gesture and the cheeky grin she gave back.

"No, I get it Dean," Xander said. "I have to pretty much scream a spell to get anything to happen, which is just as embarrassing as it sounds. It's so bad I just tell my teachers I'm partially deaf."

"Don't get discouraged," Ginny said. She was still rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. If she did it any harder, she might go right through her eyelids. "Hermione told me she was really impressed with how intelligent you are. She thought she'd have to help you a whole lot more than she has been."

Dean looked mildly impressed. "Blimey Xander, that's pretty good. Hermione doesn't joke around when it comes to academics."

Xander wanted to preen. He really did. But this wasn't actually news to him, as Hermione had praised his knowledge several times during their 'tutoring/getting to know the magical world' sessions. There was one night in particular when he described Scrivey's Law of Elemental Magic (which states that mastery of elemental magic is a direct correlation between the emotions of the witch or wizard and the size and strength of the element they are trying to manipulate) without ever hearing it before. When she asked how he'd known, he simply answered that it made sense; the Human Torch always ramped it up when he was pissed or the job was that much bigger.

But he held back on showing too much pride in front of Dean and Ginny. He never wanted to be known as "that guy." He went out of his way to make fun of "that guy." Besides, his lack of success with actually _doing _magic kept his ego from running wild.

"Me, intelligent? She needs to have Pomfrey look at her genius brain. It must be out of whack."

People were starting to stand up and move toward the Common Room entrance. Xander, Dean, and Ginny all stood up in unison, with Ginny mewing in displeasure.

"Are you gonna have some time in the afternoon?" Ginny asked Dean as they slid into a group of slow moving younger students.

Dean did a double take between her and Xander, which apparently confused Ginny for a moment, until comprehension dawned for her. "To study," she whispered coarsely.

He couldn't tell whether Dean looked disappointed, or mega-disappointed. "Yeah, maybe. I have a twelve-inch essay due in Ancient Runes this week, not to mention about one-hundred pages to read for Sinestra. But I'm tempted to skive off both. I was really hoping to get some flying in tonight. Doubt I'll get the chance."

Ginny slipped her arm around Dean's. "You still have a week before tryouts. Don't worry; we'll go out before, practice a little one on one; I'll put you through the paces."

Dean smiled and gave her a kiss. Xander pointedly looked away, which was easy as he was busy climbing out of the portrait hole and trying not to fall.

"You going to try out?"

He was staring at his shoes, trying to avoid being a first-hand witness to P.D.A., so he didn't immediately register that Ginny was speaking to him.

"For Quidditch?" She nodded her head as the three of them walked down the staircase to the sixth floor. "Gonna have to pass on that," he said, "my sports are limited to Uno and slacking. Plus I imagine actually riding a broom before try-outs is important."

Ginny's head whipped toward him at lightning speed. "You've never flown?" she nearly shrieked.

"Just on Delta."

They dodged out of the way from some Ravenclaws sprinting up the stairs. "Oh, you're definitely flying as soon as possible," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "You know what? You can come out with Dean and I this week."

Alarm bells went off in his head, and he immediately tried protesting. Not surprisingly, Dean was right there with him.

"That's okay, I have enough trouble when my feet are firmly planted on the ground."

"Gin, Xander has a lot of work he has to do, I doubt he'll have the time -"

But Ginny just shook her head. "Nope, you're coming; I'm not having anyone I consider a friend be totally useless on a broom. Flying is one of the best things about being a wizard. You can grab a school broom, and I can show you some of the basics."

"Gin, I don't think you should make him do -"

Dean trailed off; Ginny may not have said a word, but her bone chilling glare spoke volumes.

Feeling trapped between a rock and an irritated boyfriend, Xander chose the less scary of two evils. "Umm, sure, can't wait." Besides, it was flying they were discussing, not removing a tooth with a rusty nail and a prayer. He'd wanted to try since he got here, but had been too nervous to do it by himself.

And Ginny called him a friend, which was pleasantly rolling around in his head.

"Brilliant!" Ginny said. "It will be so much fun; I've never actually taught someone how to fly before, so it will be the first time for both of us. I promise it will be an experience you won't forget."

Ginny went back to merrily walking down the stairs, while Dean looked like he wanted to push Xander over the railing.

The sad thing? Homicidal Dean was still less frightening than an angry Ginny Weasley.

A few hours later, Xander was tempted beat Dean to the punch and just throw himself over a staircase railing, if it meant getting out of the rest of his classes. His head throbbed, he could barely concentrate, and he'd just bombed at performing a correct spell in Charms class, yet again.

So it was with a not terrific demeanor that he headed into the Muggle Studies classroom. The only positive of this class was that it was the first he'd taken with fifth years. They might have been a year younger than him, but when you'd been dealing with nothing but eleven and twelve year olds, it was like a class full of geriatrics.

Professor Burbage was at her desk, her face obscured by a book with a bare chested man caressing a scantily clad beauty on the cover. She failed to notice the snickering and smirks of the class.

Xander grabbed one of the few remaining seats and watched the impending humiliation unfold. He picked up on the exact moment Professor Burbage realized she had an audience; the tittering of the class reached a boiling point, and her hand holding the book suddenly froze.

Professor Burbage very slowly lowered her book, a pasted smile on her youthful face.

"No chance any of you have already forgotten what you've just seen, is there?" asked Professor Burbage in a high pitched voice.

Laughter rippled throughout the class, and Professor Burbage's shoulders deflated. "I guess I know what the topic of tonight's dinner gossip will be."

"Just please remember who grades your assignments, won't you?" she said, an eyebrow arched high.

Xander took a look around. Muggle Studies was certainly a lighter and more casual classroom than any other subject at Hogwarts, with every inch of the stone walls covered in either multi-colored drapery or Muggle posters. Plus there wasn't the overwhelming feeling of history, tradition, and proper behavior that permeated the walls of the other rooms. This was the kind of class you could finally catch your academic breath.

"Now then, wands away, wands away."

This was the first time he'd been in a Muggle Studies class and had not used his wand. His bruised ego and tired brain both sighed in relief.

"As I said at the beginning of the year, the goal of this class is to help you navigate and maneuver in the Muggle world like you yourself were a Muggle."

She walked back to the front of the room. "Obviously not everyone in fifth year is up to the challenge," she said with her noise held high and a faint smirk on her face. The class giggled as her arm swept dramatically across the room, drawing attention to the fact that there were only twenty or so people in the entire class.

Xander was not surprised to see a distinct lack of Slytherins.

"With that idea in mind." Professor Burbage started writing on the chalk board. "We will now talk about a vital aspect of Muggle life that you will no doubt run into."

She stepped aside and said, "Computers!" while pointing at her handwriting.

A murmur rose up from the students, most whispering to each other with confused looks on their faces. Only a few, including Xander, seemed to have any idea what Professor Burbage was talking about.

With a flick of her wrist, Professor Burbage produced a monitor, keyboard, desktop, and mouse in front of every student.

"With no electricity available at Hogwarts, I can't show you how it works exactly. It's too bad, because frankly, they are completely wicked," she said with childish glee. "But what we can do is go over the parts of the computer, what they do, and how you use them."

"The first item we'll discuss is called a mouse." Professor Burbage picked up a mouse from one of the computers and held it up for the class. A hesitant hand went up from one of the students in the front row.

"Yes, Rose?"

"There's not," Rose stuttered. "There's not, you know, an actual mouse in there, is there?"

Xander had to stop himself from laughing, which was probably a good idea since three-fourths of the class nodded their heads in horror. Xander rolled his eyes and tuned out as Professor Burbage discussed the finer points of the computer, while also assuring the students that no animals were harmed in the making of one.

He liked the Professor. He really did. She had gone out of her way to make him feel important whenever he was in her class, and she had often asked him how everything was going, and not in that fake, "I know I asked how everything was, but I'm really hoping you just say fine," kind of way.

But he also had no problem understanding why so few students took Muggle Studies when it was no longer mandatory. In most cases you were either a full or half-blood who would never need to interact with Muggles, or you were a Muggleborn who already knew everything she was going to say.

The professor had once made a big point about how he would learn just as much from the wizards and their views in this class. That was true, but probably not in the way she intended. Except on rare occasions, more and more he was finding that most Magical people viewed Muggles like their household pets: a pat on the head and a "good boy" for being so aw-shucks clueless and adorable.

Or they hated Muggles to the point of wishing them all dead. You know, one or the other.

"What we'll do now," Professor Burbage said after finishing her presentation, "is pair off and recite the different parts until they become like second nature. If you need to use your book, go ahead, but really try to get it on your own. Okay everyone; turn around and work with the person behind you; last row, come up and work with the front row."

The usual hustle and bustle of scraping chairs and moving students followed her words. The last thing Xander wanted to do was try and patiently explain to his partner why a power cord was necessary to make "computer-go-on." He wished Willow could see him now, teaching students about computers. Go figure. It was like Madonna giving a group of teenage girls chastity lessons.

He turned around in his chair and started wedging his book back into his bag. He figured that with a gun to his head he could tell the difference between a keyboard and a monitor without having to read up.

"Okay, so I don't want to say you lucked out getting me as your partner, but I do have a lot of experience working on...a..." he trailed off.

He finally looked at the Hufflepuff girl who was set to be his partner. She was undeniably cute; with full, dark hair and dark eyes. Even the thick glasses and baby fat on her cheeks didn't diminish her overall pleasantness. But he almost did a double take when she gave him a nervous smile; she had the whitest, straightest teeth he'd ever seen. They were mesmerizing.

"Sadie Hayne," she said.

Xander nodded quickly. "Yep."

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

Finally Xander's brain caught up with his mouth. "I mean, Xander Harris...I am. My name, that is," he stuttered.

If she was amused or embarrassed at his 'oh-so-suave' behavior, she kept it to herself. "Nice to meet you," she said.

"Yeah." He averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "You too."

They sat in mounting awkwardness until she said, "You have experience with computers?"

"What? Oh, umm, uh-huh."

"Like what?"

"The usual stuff teenage boys use a computer for."

His eyes widened in horror. For an idle moment he wondered if his wand could produce a rope to hang himself with. Fat chance: he'd probably just make a strand of spaghetti.

Luckily for Xander, Muggle Studies hadn't touched on Muggle Sex Ed, so she waited for him to elaborate on his thought, instead of pointing and yelling out "sinner!"

"Like...sports...scores." he eventually stumbled. He prayed with everything he had that she didn't call him out. The gods seemed to be smiling down on him, because her face grew more animated and open.

"Oh wait, I think I know this. I should, since I've taken Muggle Studies for two years." She tapped her fingernail on her lip and looked up in concentration. "Oh! Football, right?"

He let out a breath of relieved air, and vowed to wait at least three seconds before answering anymore questions. "Yeah, but not the football you're thinking of. We Americans like to distance ourselves from our colonial oppressors as much as possible." For good measure he added a "Huzzah!" and a raised fist.

She laughed at his antics. "Okay George Washington; what's different between your football and the football we oppressors play?"

A girl who knew some American Muggle history? She was steadily climbing in Xander's "favorite people at Hogwarts" list.

"In the manlier, tougher American version, there's at lot more tackling, cheerleaders, and steroids."

Her face scrunched up. "When do you use your feet?"

"Umm, not too often actually."

"If you don't use your feet, why do you call it football?" she asked.

Xander leaned back in his chair, totally surprised. She'd picked up on something in five seconds that Willow and Buffy wouldn't have pulled out in five years. Not that they were sports fanatics. Or ever considered talking about sports other than to comment on pretty uniform colors and inherent sexism.

Man, he needed more guy friends.

"You got me," he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's one of life's little questions that will elude mankind forever; like how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop, and does Richard Gere really have an unhealthy love of furry woodland creatures."

Her eyes scrunched up and she leaned back in her seat. Xander had gotten used to that reaction; sarcastic pop culture was the medium he'd dedicated his life to working in, and he refused to change for anyone. But unlike most others at the school who totally ignored what he said and just moved on, she started to laugh.

"Are all Americans as odd as you?"

"Aww, you figured out my secret," Xander said, placing his elbow on her desk and resting his head on his hand. "What gave me away? Was it my accent? I've been told it has a hint of American."

"Oh yeah, just a little bit; hardly noticeable," she joked.

They both laughed and relaxed. For the first time in hours, Xander's head didn't throb.

She grew a little uncertain. "I didn't want to say anything, you know, about you being the kid from the States," she said. "I figured you've had enough people gawking at you."

"If by gawking you mean saying 'hello' then immediately turning to the person next to you and whispering like there's no tomorrow? Noooo, not at all."

She matched his posture by leaning her head on her hand. "Admit it; you love the attention," she said.

A comfortable silence descended upon them. Without warning, without even trying, Xander found himself pulled into a kind of charged staring contest. She sat there, mirroring his position, a funny little smile dancing on her lips.

Usually this was the point where it would slip out that she was really a praying mantis, but instead she kept on sitting, simply acting like an English schoolgirl.

It was certainly a nice change of pace.

But it also grew to be a little too much, so Xander finally cracked and backed away from the desk. His ears burned like they were on fire, and he was sure his face looked the same. "Of course not," he drawled, slipping into his lousy British accent, "I abhor the spotlight; all I desire is a good book and a roaring fire."

"Oh no." Her white teeth gleamed in the light. "Did you really just do that?"

"I did."

"Well then." She sat up straight, cleared her throat, and then began twirling her hair. "Like, if you're going to make fun of me, then like, I'm totally going to make fun of you, like, for sure," she said in a poor imitation of a valley girl.

The dopey, glazed over look on her face was enough to make his slacked jaw twitch. Seeing this, she lost control and had to hide her laughter behind her hand.

"That was awful," he deadpanned, which only made her laugh harder. "There's some poor girl at a mall in North Hollywood who just felt a chill go up her spine."

"Like you were any better," she said.

"How about this; we both agree to never intentionally embarrass our native lands again."

He stuck out his hand which she promptly shook.

"Deal."

"Is everything alright?"

Professor Burbage was standing above them, watching the interplay with amusement. Xander felt very shy all of a sudden, like he'd been discovered doing something wrong.

"Yep," Xander said. "We're just talking about the differences in our two countries."

"While that's all very good, I would like you two to practice what we've just learned."

They both muttered, "okay's" to the professor, who merrily went on to the next group.

"So, computers" Xander began, "why don't you go ahead, since I pretty much have this down pat."

She nodded her head and pulled her book closer. "Okay, it shouldn't take long."

The good news was she was telling the truth; she had the parts of the computer down cold. That meant they spent the rest of the class time shooting the breeze, which was an entertaining way to spend the remaining hour. Xander found himself describing life in the U.S., probably for the twelfth time overall since he'd arrived at Hogwarts. But with her it was different. She had a much better grasp of Muggle life and culture then most of the other kids, so she was able to understand a lot of the things he told her.

Eventually Professor Burbage told them to pack their bags just before they started hearing kids moving down the hall. Xander turned back to grab his bag, but he still had a lot of items on his desk that needed packing. He hurriedly started stuffing everything in at once when he heard someone calling his name. He looked up to find his computer partner, bouncing from foot to foot, giving him a quick wave from near the door.

"It was nice to meet you, Xander Harris," she said.

He opened his mouth to reply, when a horrible realization hit him in the gut; he couldn't remember her name. He was so entranced by her smile earlier that when she said it, it slipped right in one ear and out the other. He could vaguely remember what it sounded like, but that was it.

His face went tight, and he strapped on an awkward grimace that could double as a smile. His mind was going overdrive trying to remember anything. She looked at him in concern, probably because he just sat there like a dope staring at her.

If he pretended to faint, would she think less of him?

Luckily it didn't come to that, as all at once his memory kicked in and her name came to him.

He waved back and said, "You too, Shady Lane." Almost immediately the feeling of wanting to punch himself in the face made itself very known.

A couple of the other people in the class heard and started laughing, to which Shady frowned and gave him a wounded look.

"Sorry," he said, his stomach plummeting to his feet, "I'm at least close though, right? Right?"

Several days later Ginny caught up with Xander in the Common Room and told him it was finally time for his flying lesson. It was just going to be the two of them since Dean had begged off, claiming too much homework. Now that it was happening, he was more than stoked to try out a broom. But with Dean sitting on the couch during the entire conversation, shooting him dirty looks every three seconds, he figured playing his excitement close to the vest was the wise decision.

Xander ran up to his room to get bundled up against the cold October wind, making sure to put on gloves, a stocking cap, and a big, thick black jacket. He got some stares when he re-entered the Common Room, and even though Ginny was wearing a simple long sleeved Gryffindor shirt and slacks, he knew his Southern California blood would thank him when he got out there.

After exiting the Common Room, he and Ginny bumped into a harried looking Neville in the seventh floor hallway.

"Where've you been, Nev?" Xander asked.

Neville ran his hand through his messed up hair, looking like one big knotted muscle. "I had detention with McGonagall. I had to write lines for the last three hours."

"I hope it was worth it," Ginny said with sympathy.

Neville suddenly became very interested in what his feet were doing. "It was."

Xander recognized the muted satisfaction Neville was trying to hold in. He'd seen Willow pull the same routine whenever she'd performed some act of nerdy excellence.

"What did you do?" Ginny asked slyly.

Neville shrugged his shoulders, but wore a small grin. "Crabbe and Goyle might have bumped into me in the hall outside Transfiguration, and I might have told them where to stick their wands in each other."

"Neville!" Ginny shrieked, but with an elated expression. Frankly, Xander didn't think the kid had it in him.

Neville's grin threatened to split his face as he kept staring at the ground. "It wasn't just that."

Ginny and Xander exchanged glances.

"As they were walking away, I might, just _might_ mind you, have made hair grow from their palms down to the floor."

Ginny's mouth formed a perfect 'O' of surprise, while Xander was sure his jaw was mere inches from slamming into the stone walkway. "You did that in front of McGonagall?"

"Well I didn't know she was behind me. Boy, you should have seen both our faces when I turned around and saw her," Neville said. He looked wistfully off into the distance. "I thought she was going to have a heart attack."

At this Ginny absolutely lost control, laughing so hard she hunched over. "Oh Merlin!" she exclaimed, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to catch her breath. "I'm going to have to write Fred and George, tell them all about this. They won't believe me!"

Neville didn't say anything, but it looked like someone had just presented him with a trophy.

"Where are you two going? Dinner's over, isn't it?"

"Ginny's going to try and do the impossible and teach me how to fly. If it's anything like when I learned to ride a bike, we may end up with a mailbox on fire and me needing the jaws of life."

"Yeah Neville, do you believe he's never flown before?" She punctuated her point by slugging Xander in the shoulder. He tried to discreetly rub the throbbing area; growing up with six brothers had given Ginny Weasley freakish strength.

All of a sudden Neville didn't look as excited. "Well good luck Xander; Ginny's one of the best fliers in the school. I'll see you both later."

With that Neville started toward the Common Room, and Xander and Ginny continued on their own way. But something about the last look Neville gave them nagged in the back of Xander's mind. For some reason the thought of invisible Marcy popped into his head.

"Hey Neville," he said out of the blue.

When Neville turned back, Xander asked, "Why don't you come with?"

"Yeah," Ginny piped in, "come on; the more the merrier."

Neville hesitated before answering. "Nah, I have a lot of work and -"

Xander interrupted Neville's hemming and hawing. "Neville: me and flying? Probably going to be a disaster of biblical proportions. We're talking Job levels of, "Wow, sucks to be you." Believe me, I need all the help I can get."

"I'm not very good on a broom. There are loads of people you'd be better off with."

"You're not that bad Neville," Ginny said, with just a hint of sounding like she meant it.

With one last card to play, Xander went for the simple approach. "It'll be fun; at least more fun than doing work and listening to Colin Creevey and his man-crush on Harry."

Neville debated with himself for a few seconds, before breaking out in a full grin. "Yeah, why not. Let me just go put my books away."

The cool, crisp autumn air bit Xander's skin once they stepped out of Hogwarts and onto the grounds. The sun was already starting to fade, giving them little more than an hour of daylight left to work with. The three Gryffindor's treked through the grass, talking about anything and everything.

Entering through the front gate of the stadium gave Xander his first glance at the inside. It was immense! Bigger than any place he'd ever been to for a sporting event. The stands started about one hundred feet off the ground, and the three hoops on either side of the field loomed large and imposing. He was actually excited for the first Gryffindor match of the season. Standing on the grass in the middle of the field, he thought that maybe he would even break one of his long standing vows and paint his entire body gold and scarlet.

"Is that..." Neville had his hand over his eyes and was pointing up to the sky. It took Xander a few seconds to spot what Neville was talking about. There was a speck of a person flying around at impossibly high altitudes, zooming back and forth on the broom with an ease that bordered on intimidation.

Xander may not have understood the finer points of flying, but he knew this flyer looked magnificent.

Though seeing the rider so far off the ground suddenly knocked Xander's enthusiasm down a peg.

Ginny waved with great energy. The flier must have spotted the ragtag group, because they started their descent. When he got within a few hundred feet of the ground, Xander saw that it was Harry Potter doing the air acrobatics.

Xander wanted to curse. He and Harry weren't exactly on the best of terms, mainly to do with that stupid joke he made the first night in the dorm. It wasn't that Harry had gone out of his way to make Xander's life miserable or anything, but there was a definite tension between the two that made living in such close quarters a chore, no matter what Xander tried to do to remedy it. Add to that the fact that Harry was about as open and easy to understand as Ancient Sumerian, and you had a situation that needed some serious help.

Harry landed and dismounted in one utterly graceful move. His cheeks were flushed and he had a windswept look about him. He ran his hand through his wild hair, looking effortlessly cool in the process. It made Xander feel that much more awkward and out of place.

"Looking good up there, Harry," Ginny said.

Harry's cheeks reddened, but whether it was from the cold air or the compliment, Xander couldn't tell.

"Thanks," Harry said. "What are you guys doing out here?"

"Me and Neville are teaching Xander here how to fly."

Harry turned his eyes toward Xander, looking him up and down. There was a cool calculation in his gaze, though his face betrayed nothing. Xander tried smiling at him, but his mind couldn't come up with a witty comment or joke to make. Frankly, he was getting tired of trying to make Harry Potter like him.

"Well good luck," Harry said.

"You want to stay and help us?" Neville asked. "If there's anybody that can teach him about flying, it's you."

"I was just finishing up, actually. Work to do, you know how it is."

The line certainly rang false to Xander's ears, and if Neville and Ginny's reactions were genuine, they were finding this whole discussion uncomfortable, too.

"Well then, don't let us keep you from your important goings-on," Xander said. He hoped his tone didn't sound as bitter as it did in his head.

Harry stared at him, then gave a curt nod and started walking out of the stadium.

"That was strange," Ginny said once Harry was out of earshot.

Xander noticed Neville giving him a look, but neither commented. What was there to say?

After rummaging through the shed full of school brooms, Ginny produced two that she claimed weren't "utter rubbish," which didn't exactly fill Xander with loads of optimism. The were both slightly warped and worn through. Call him a stickler, but if he was going to rely on a stick to keep him afloat hundreds of feet in the air, he wanted the Rolls Royce of brooms.

Ginny laid the two school brooms and her much nicer broom on the grass around midfield.

"Okay, first thing you want to do is stand next to your broom."

She, Neville, and Xander all took up positions to the left side of their respective brooms.

"Next, hold your hand over the broom, and say, "Up!""

Ginny threw her petite hand over top her broom, and yelled the word. Instantly the broom shot up into her hand, like the snapping of a rubberband.

Neville put his hand over the broom with much more indecision. When he breathed the word, "Up!" his broom also shot into his hand, albeit a little slower than Ginny's.

"Nice one, Nev!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Whoa." Neville kept staring like he was waiting for it to change its mind.

With a deep breath and a bevy of happy thoughts, Xander extended his arm to his right and closed his eyes tight.

"Up!" he yelled, and waited for the broom to hit his hand.

And waited...

And still waited...

He cracked open his right eye and peered down. The broom was taunting him, laying in the same exact spot. He closed his eye and counted to ten.

"Up."

This time he watched the broom flop like a fish, but never really get that high off the ground.

Flying was supposed to be easy. He read a book that said even someone with the most limited amount of magic would have no problem on a broom. But he knew that no matter how many times he yelled at the broom to move, it would never reach his palm.

"It's no big deal Xander; just go ahead and pick it up." Neville gave him an encouraging nod, and Ginny followed suit. It didn't stop the pity from reaching their eyes.

His jaw clenched; he refused to let the prospect of flying be ruined for any reason. For god sakes he'd waited all his life for a moment like this. That's why he did a dramatic dip and picked up with broom with finesse.

"The easy way; sounds just alright with me!"

Ginny rolled her eyes and said, "Alright, throw your leg over the broom, and grip near the top with both hands."

Xander straddled the broom, feeling the rough coarseness in the palm of his hands. Whether or not _he_ had much magic in him, he could at least feel the magic coming off this piece of wood.

"Now," Ginny continued. "I want you to gently, and I mean _gently_, push off the ground and try hovering. Watch me and Neville first."

She crouched her knees and very lightly pushed herself off the ground, where she floated steadily a few feet in the air. She resembled Harry in how comfortable she seemed on a broom, almost like it was a second home.

Neville followed, but was much less fluid. Almost at once Xander could tell something was wrong.

"Aaaah!"

Neville's broom started bucking like a bronco that wanted him off. He yelled out again before the broom gave one big, final lurch, sending him hurtling to the ground. Neville hit the soft earth with an "oomph," but immediately sprang back to his feet.

"Neville! Are you okay?" Ginny asked as she swooped down to the ground.

"Yeah," he said. But the wince that followed and his subtle rubbing of his left side told a different tale. "I told you I was rubbish."

"Nonsense," Ginny said with conviction. "I just picked a bad broom. I'll go get you a better one."

"Ginny, it's -"

But Ginny interrupted. "No, Neville; you're not quitting now." She reached up and patted his shoulder. "It's totally my fault, so don't even think about it. Alright?"

Neville stood there red faced and shaky, but said, "Okay."

Ginny gave him a final squeeze and grin, and took off flying toward the broom shed.

Xander remained silent during the entire scene. He was giving serious thought to asking Ginny if she could conjure a net and an air mattress for his inevitable drop. What chance did he have if Neville, someone who had flown before, albeit badly, fell off his broom? Maybe he should call ahead to Madame Pomfrey the school nurse, tell her to get a bed prepared for him.

Speaking of Neville; he looked okay physically, but was refusing to meet Xander's eyes.

"Go ahead then," Neville said with no small amount of anger.

"Huh?"

Neville shoved his hands in his pockets. "I know you and everyone you tell is going to have a laugh about this later, so you might as well start now."

It took Xander a few seconds to catch up with Neville's insane logic. "Why would I tell anyone about you falling?"

Now it was Neville's turn to look at him in surprise. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Neville," Xander said with patience. "My entire life is pretty much one crushing event of social humiliation after another. I don't need the karma of trying to make fun of someone else when they go through something that I'll probably repeat here in a few seconds. Well, unless the person just happens to be a vampire with a strange love of hair gel; then all bets are off."

"Oh," Neville said. He had his head cocked to the side and was giving Xander an odd look. "I just thought -"

But whatever he was going to say abruptly stopped once Ginny arrived back.

"Here," she said, thrusting a new broom at Neville. "This one's much better."

Ginny went back into the air, and waited for Neville to follow. With hesitation, Neville slung his leg over the broom and gave a push off the ground, where he shimmied for a second, but eventually straightened out.

"Much better!" Ginny exclaimed. "See, I told you it was the broom!"

"Yeah, must have been," Neville said quietly. He held his shoulders a little straighter.

"Now it's your turn, Xander. Are you ready?" Ginny asked.

That was the million dollar question. Does one ever get ready to fly in the air? "What could possibly go wrong?" Xander muttered.

Very slowly, very carefully, he crouched and ever so lightly pushed himself off the ground...

And hung gently like he was on a cloud.

"Excellent!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Hey, this isn't so bad!" He started to lean back and do a little dance of joy, but as soon as he let his hands go, the broom wobbled like crazy.

"Whoa!" He latched back on in record time and steadied the wood; it might have only been a six or seven foot drop, but if what happened to Neville was any guide, it still would hurt like hell.

"Easy there; get a feel for the broom," Ginny said as she made lazy circles around him and Neville. "Shift your body weight around; forward, backward, side to side. Try and understand how the broom wants to move. It's important to not force the broom to your will. Become one with the broom."

"Yes, sensei."

He tentatively leaned to the left, trying to gage how the broom would react. He let his body slip further and further, until the broom lurched and he went back to centering himself. He repeated the action to the left a few times until he knew how far he could take it. Then he worked on the other angles of the broom.

He understood what Ginny meant by trying to learn the broom and what it was capable of. It was like owning an old, finicky car. Sure, it might be a little worn around the edges and no longer the belle of the ball, but it still had personality and a need for care.

Ginny settled right in front of him, their brooms making a 'T' shape. "Does it feel good?" she asked warmly.

"Like a towel straight from the dryer."

"You think you're ready to move?" Ginny asked.

"Try and stop me."

Neville laughed and Ginny giggled. "Alright. What you want to do first is move straight ahead. You know how gently you pushed off the ground? I want you to do the same thing but leaning forward."

"Aye aye, captain."

He had done this a moment ago, so it should be an easy transition. He made sure he had a sturdy grip on the broom, and lent forward again, making sure to go a little further than earlier. He felt his back muscles loosen and his abs tense once he started to lean...

And shot straight ahead at a hundred miles an hour.

"Xander! No!" he heard screamed behind him.

His breath blasted from his body as he held the broom in a death grip. He rocketed forward, faster than he could have imagined, and was heading straight for the first few rows of the far stands. If he could have held a thought at that moment, he probably would have been, "Holy crap!"

"Pull up! Pull up!" He barely heard the speaker through the blast of wind in his ears.

He turned his head and saw Ginny flying right next to him, frantically pointing to his hands. Absurdly he wanted to ask her what she was doing up here.

Ginny was looking back and forth at Xander and the impending wall, frantic fear arising from her that was beyond Xander's comprehension.

"Pull up on the damn broom!" she screamed again through the roar of wind.

But he couldn't move; his body was locked on autopilot and heading straight for the stand wall. Even through the crushing air on his face he couldn't blink, couldn't look away from his impending smushiness.

Then the front of his broom was jerked straight up. Neville had somehow flown up on his left side and grabbed Xander's broom while barely managing to stay on his. The sudden action knocked Xander from his stupor, and Ginny's constant screams of, "Pull up! Pull up!" finally penetrated his skull. He desperately pulled up on the front of his broom, which acted like an emergency break.

The broom came to an almost immediate stop, and only the fact that he was now holding on with an arm and leg bear hug stopped him from dropping. He didn't even move when he felt the broom being lowered to the ground. All the fear and adrenaline now flooded his system, making him one giant quivering mass of petrified jelly.

"Are you okay? Xander! Answer me!" he heard screamed next to his ear by Neville as he lay on the ground.

"Just peachy," he forced out through his clenched teeth.

"Oh thank Merlin!" Ginny screeched. Through his slitted eyes, Xander saw her round on Neville. "And you," she said, poking a surprised Neville in the chest, "That was a stupid, dangerous thing to try and do! You both could have been killed! What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"Umm," a slightly nauseous looking Neville began, "that flying into a wall would have been bad?"

Instead of hauling back and giving him a good smack, Xander was surprised to see Ginny latch onto Neville for dear life. Neville himself looked pretty shocked, and awkwardly patted her back.

"Umm, guys?" Xander said, where he still lay in the fetal position on the field, straddling his broom. "Do you mind a whole lot if we call it a day?"

Then he added. "Oh, and by the way Neville; I owe you one life saving."

A/N: I know a few of you are hankering for the inevitable Snape scene. Don't worry, it will show up sooner than later. Once again, thanks for the reviews!


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Xander Harris and the Magical Ascension  
Author: Mr. Klortho  
Rating: Teen (Some spotty language here and there, but it's tastefully done if I do say so myself.)  
Summary: Xander finds out that he has something inside that puts him firmly out of the "normal" category, and decides to travel to a castle in Scotland to learn more about it.

Timeline: During Season 2 for BtVS, and Book 6 for HP.

Special Thanks: To my beta's: StrawberryChild, dozygirl, curius, and AmoebaFlower. Your help, suggestions, and overall support has been invaluable through this whole process. I can't thank you enough.  
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Harry Potter, or anything to do with either, blah blah blah.

* * *

Xander awoke to a scream.

Actually if he was being completely accurate, he woke up from the scream _and _the blinding flash of light. That meant it doubly sucked, since he was having such a pleasant dream involving a particular blond Vampire Slayer wearing a particular metal bikini from a particular epic trilogy.

The Charms textbook he was reading the night before flopped to the ground next to a shocked Neville, who had somehow ended up on the cold stones, wrapped in his bedding.

"Sorry!" Harry screamed out from across the dormitory.

Seamus and Dean laughed uproariously. Xander's heart finally stopped pounding when he saw what the commotion was all about: Ron was hanging from mid-air upside down, like his ankle was caught in an invisible hook.

"Hang on – I'll let you down -" Harry yelled out.

As Neville popped up, looking just as confused as Xander felt, Harry furiously flipped through a book on his lap. He stopped, peered down in great concentration at the words on the page, closed his eyes and mumbled to himself while pointing his wand at Ron.

There was another blinding flash of light. When Xander's eyes adjusted, he saw Ron laying face down on his comforter.

"Sorry," Harry said feebly.

Seamus and Dean laughed even harder, and this time Neville joined in.

"Tomorrow," Ron began, his face firmly planted in the pillow, "I'd rather you set the alarm clock."

Everyone broke apart and started their morning routine, including a red faced Ron Weasley, whose first order of business was to drill Harry in the head with a strategically thrown pillow.

"Psst," Xander whispered to Neville from his position on the bed. Neville stopped from tossing his covers back on his mattress.

"Please tell me that wasn't some form of wizard hazing, because if anyone hands me a dragon egg and tells me to throw it off the tower after tying it to Xander junior, I will literally walk back to California."

"Err, no mate. At least I don't think so, since I have no idea what 'hazzing' is," Neville said.

"Sweet," Xander said, kicking back his covers. "Then let's get a move on."

Thirty minutes later found Xander and Neville walking into the already buzzing Great Hall for breakfast. Though he was about as much a morning person as a vampire, there was an extra bounce to Xander's step today: it was his first visit to Hogsmeade. He was thrilled to get out of the castle and actually walk through the wizarding village he had only glimpsed on his arrival months ago. The only negative to the whole event was the blistering cold and ungodly amount of snow on the ground, both of which filled his west coast blood with abject terror. Still, he was willing to brave the walk; he just might look like an Eskimo doing it.

"Which shop do you want to go to first?" Neville asked as they slipped into chairs at the Gryffindor table.

Ever since Xander's attempt at flying (or what he dubbed as his worst idea since going by the name 'Xandmaster H' and trying to rap about Super Mario and Miss Jennings - his teacher with the hair-lip - in the fourth grade talent show), he and Neville had started hanging out whenever they both had free time.

Obviously you don't go through a life saving situation like that and NOT become great friends.

"I don't know Nev, you're the expert here: consider me like a date that needs to be wooed. Hetero-ly wooed, of course, but wooed none the less."

Neville laughed as breakfast food appeared on the table. "Well, we could start at the Three Broomsticks, get some food and a butterbeer while we're there."

"Eeeeehhhh," Xander buzzed like the wrong answer from a game show. "Dinner and drinks? Too cliched. Need more woo."

"Alright, how about Honeyduke's?" Neville asked as he heaped scrambled eggs on his plate.

"Chocolates and sweets? Jeez, if you say a walk in the garden next, I'm going to think you're not trying. A guy likes to feel appreciated, Neville. If I'm going to take the time to pretty myself up, then I want it to be for something fun."

Neville frowned at Xander.

"I've taken it too far, haven't I?" Xander asked.

"A bit, yeah."

"Fair enough."

They both ate in silence for the next few moments.

Luckily the weird vibe was interrupted by Seamus plopping down next to Neville.

"You lads gonna join us at the Hog's Head?" he asked, taking a sausage from Neville's place.

"What's that?" Xander asked.

"It's this other bar in Hogsmeade," Neville said, jabbing his fork into another sausage and staring daggers at Seamus. "We met there last year for Dumbledore's Army. The place is so filthy, I felt as if I needed a shower just stepping through the doors."

Neville had explained how their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher last year had done everything in her power to NOT teach proper defense, and thus he and some other students had founded a secret club they called Dumbledore's Army, or the D.A. for short, in order to practice defensive spells. Neville credited the meetings, and Harry Potter as leader, for making his wandwork infinitely better.

Seamus rolled his eyes. "We're not going for the lovely setting, Nev."

"It's not going to happen."

"What won't happen?" Xander asked.

"Seamus is convinced he can get the barman to slip him a bottle of firewhiskey," Neville said.

"Oh yee of little faith. You just have to know how to talk to these people," Seamus said.

"See, we grew up speaking American 'alcohol scamming' in my family." Xander said. "But what I don't know is how you say it to a Scottish wizard. Enlighten me, oh wise one."

Seamus took this as his cue to really hunker down: he leaned in, looking slowly side to side. Neville and Xander unconsciously followed his lead, looking for any eavesdroppers.

"Well," Seamus whispered conspiratorially, "the key is to act like you belong there. Walk right up to the bar, ask for the bottle of firewhiskey like you've done it a hundred times, and then just wait. Oh, and to top it off, you slip the bartender an extra galleon."

Neville and Xander both sat there quietly waiting for Seamus to continue. Instead, he just smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"That's it?" Neville blurted out. "That's your big plan?"

"What's the matter with it?"

"You're the kind of guy who would put a thermal exhaust port on his Deathstar and say, 'Hey, what are the odds?' aren't you?"

Seamus rubbed his hands together to remove any excess food. "Since I have no clue what you're talking about, I'll choose to believe that was a compliment."

Owl screeching interrupted the conversation, which was the well known signal for morning mail. Xander watched overhead as various packages and letters were dropped into the awaiting hands of the eager students.

Just when he was getting back to his breakfast, a manila envelope plopped into a bowl of porridge between he and Neville. It was sheer chance it avoided splashing either of them.

"Every time!" Xander yelled out, plucking the envelope on a clean edge with the tips of his fingers. Half the letter was covered in the grayish gloop, and it was already seeping into the paper.

"I've never seen a bird have it in for someone, mate," Neville said between laughs.

"I'm just lucky that way," Xander said sarcastically. He tried shaking off some of the excess porridge. "I mean, you forget to tip a bird one time; one time! Then the next six letters it delivers from my friends magically find their way into some sort of food. I mean, if it was a pig, I could understand why it would hate me so much."

"Why's that?" Neville asked.

"What? Oh, no reason." Xander looked around the table, and spotted his savior sitting a few seats down. "Hermione, could you help me out?"

Without looking up from the book she was reading, Hermione pointed her wand at the envelope and muttered "_Tergeo," _siphoning the porridge. After a second the letter looked brand new.

"You're a lifesaver, Teach," Xander said.

"I don't know why you just don't apologize," she said with raised eyebrows as she still read.

"For the last time Hermione, because it's an owl!" He drew looks from the people around him. "Besides, you're missing the all important question; why does an owl need money? Is it saving to send its little owl children to a good Ivy League school?"

"Who cares?" Seamus asked. "Just say you're sorry, will ya? I don't want to have to fetch cereal out of my hair again."

Neville waved his fork toward the letter. "It looks a little thicker than usual."

"Yeah, you're right." There was a flat bulge at the bottom of the envelope that hadn't been in the previous letters. Since he was still keeping the whole Sunnydale equals Hellmouth/Buffy equals Slayer angle to himself, Xander usually waited until he was in the privacy of his bed before reading whatever Willow and the gang had written. It sometimes led to awkward questions from his roommates. Or wacky conspiracy theories.

For example: Seamus and Dean were convinced they were naughty letters from a secret Slytherin girlfriend that he was too ashamed to admit. Their most likely candidate was Milicent Bulstrode, the girl who – rumor had it – beat Crabbe and Goyle in an arm wrestling match just last week.

But this time, with a prize at the bottom, he found that he couldn't wait. So he ripped off the top and peered inside.

"Hey! Will ya look at that!" Xander exclaimed as he pulled out a few dozen photos.

Willow and Buffy, with the entire gang present, had gone nuts with a camera. Xander didn't think he'd ever seen so many photos taken inside a library. You could tell that Giles was barely tolerating the intrusion, as there were only about five pictures of him smiling; the rest had him either rubbing his glasses or frowning, usually with Buffy standing right next to him, a cheesy look on her face. Xander didn't miss that there were also a few shots of Giles and Miss Calender, looking kind of cozy and awkward and oh my god he wasn't going to think that through any further.

Though he was shocked to see Cordelia in a lot of the pictures – as he expected she'd rather get a waxing with sandpaper then be seen in their group – he wasn't surprised at her perfect ten smile in every shot. It was hard-coded in her DNA to never take a bad photo, even if she thought the recipient was a total tool.

They must have taken these in the middle of some research session, as books were strewn in the background of many shots, most times with a person or two involved in heavy reading.

Flipping through them, one after the other, his stomach felt feathery and his heart thumped in his chest. Never did he think he'd have such a reaction to just looking at pictures of his friends.

He pressed further into the picture pile, letting out a great bark of laughter. Willow had written two full pages in an earlier letter about how much she loved 'wizarding photo Xander.' It seemed that with a lack of viable magical options, she had presented him with the next best thing.

There were about two-dozen shots of her standing there, waving at the camera one little step at a time. Xander flipped through the photos quickly, creating his own little waving Willow. He felt his mouth forming into an unconscious smile as he stared at her sunny face: she really was the smartest person he knew.

"Great Merlin, Harris; what have you been holding out on us?"

Seamus and Neville were already looking through the first batch of photos he'd set down on the table. Seamus's loud exclamation had drawn the interest of Lavender, who was just arriving at the table.

"Oooh!" Lavender pointed at a picture of a solo Cordelia. "She's pretty! Is she your girlfriend back home, Xander?" she teased in a sing-songy voice.

A quick feeling of revulsion filled his stomach. "Me and Cordelia Chase? Please. Us in a relationship could possibly be seen as a sign of the apocalypse. Besides, my wallet and patience aren't nearly big enough."

"Well then rob a bank why don't ya!" Seamus said. He picked up a shot of Buffy, Willow, and Miss Calendar. "What's the problem with these three? Or do you have something against incredibly beautiful girls?"

"Ha, ha," Xander said, snatching back the photo. "Willow, the redhead, has been my friend since before velcro shoes."

Lavender gave a squeal that didn't exactly sit well with him. "'Witch Weekly' says the most magical relationships are the ones that start off as just friends."

"I don't think they were talking about friends who slept in the same bed during sleep overs."

Seamus looked at him like he was crazy. "Umm, yeah, I think they were."

Before Xander could defend himself, Lavender asked, "What about the blond girl?"

Little trickles of sweat started pooling under his arms. And this is why he should always wait to be alone before opening his letters. "That's my friend Buffy."

"Aaaaaannnddd?" Lavender drawled. She had that sinister look in her eye native to gossiping teen girls.

"Aaaannd," he mocked, "she has a great sense of fashion and an unhealthy love of stuffed animals."

A slow smile rose on Seamus. "You're getting a little red there, mate."

Xander's eyes darted away from the grinning faces of his tormentors. The Great Hall was now twice as crowded with excited kids ready to leave, including Harry and Ron, who were obviously regaling a not so impressed Hermione with the story of Ron's wake-up. Xander wondered if he could somehow blend into the nameless mass and make a quick exit from this terrible conversation.

Or even better: He'd learn to Apparate right to his room. He knew that you couldn't technically do it inside Hogwarts, but he liked to think the founders were a compassionate bunch who put in a "Teenage Embarrassment" loophole for moments just like this.

Luckily Neville, who had picked up his 'good friend mantle' with ease, sensed his discomfort and changed the subject.

"Who's this?"

"That's my computer teacher."

All three were stunned, and not because they most likely had no idea what a computer was.

"That's a teacher!" Lavender asked.

"I'd never skip her class. In fact, I'd probably just wander in there during free periods to say a little how do you do."

Completely forgetting about teasing Xander, Seamus and Lavender started arguing the advantages and disadvantages of having a good looking teacher for a class, even bringing in a few other Gryffindors to back up their points.

Neville gave Xander a smile and nod, and then joined in the discussion. Xander quietly swept up the photos and put them back in the envelope, taking a deep, satisfying breath. He would read the letter when he had the chance to be alone.

For now, he had to totally argue against Lavender's ridiculous belief that teacher's who were better looking than their female students were bad for morale.

Eventually Xander and Neville made it out of the Great Hall, and started slugging their way toward Hogsmeade. Every step was like a new torture on Xander's exposed skin. The only thought that kept his legs moving was the hope that Hogsmeade was better than Disneyland and the Playboy mansion wrapped in one big pile o' fun.

Unfortunately that was not the case.

As soon as they rose over the hill that let them see the small wizarding village, it became apparent that only about half the buildings were open. Xander shifted his frozen body toward Neville. "Is having your lights off and doors closed an old wizarding tradition that means, 'come on in?'"

"No," Neville said. He blew on his hands to try and give any bit of warmth. "Usually all the shops love to see the students come down."

The next question of "why" was on the tip of Xander's tongue before he realized the answer for himself: Voldemort.

Suddenly the festive air around him felt that much colder, had that much more of a bite to it. Barring the occasional run in with some bad-mannered Slytherins, it was relatively easy for Xander, while inside Hogwarts, to put the idea of war out of his head. Days like today though, put the status of magical Britain into perfect clarity.

"So, eh, where to first?" Neville asked, walking once again. His voice was flat and he was looking straight ahead.

Xander hesitated. "I have a question about Voldemort."

Neville actually hissed and looked away. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he mumbled.

Xander rolled his eyes. "I don't get you Neville." They crossed the threshold into Hogsmeade. The streets were bare; students had poured themselves into every open shop to avoid the cold.

Xander continued. "You have no problem going toe to toe with Crabbe and Goyle even though there's a solid chance they could literally punch you through a wall, but as soon as I say HIS name, you clam up like Grandma Longbottom just found your stash of girlie mags."

"You don't understand."

"Being afraid to say a dudes name? You're right; I'm a big ball of confusion."

Neville stopped walking and looked over Xander's shoulder with a ten-thousand yard stare. There was a weariness to his slouched posture and sagged face that had no place on a sixteen year old.

"Listen," he said, "right now we go to school, we have a few laughs – it's great. But nobody talks about what's coming, nobody talks about how there's gonna be a full-on war sooner, rather than later. I mean a year from now I may be back at Hogwarts, I might be fighting, or I might be dead. My family are blood traitors Xander; you'd better believe they'll be coming after me and Gran first. You're lucky, you don't have to worry about those things: you can leave here and just go back to your life and not have to worry about getting yanked out of your bed, never to be heard from again."

Neville stopped talking, but kept staring at that spot only he could understand. His words were mellow and almost resigned, and spoken without malice. Xander, for his part, stood transfixed on the spot: it was like seeing a whole new person forming in front of him.

"So yeah," Neville continued, "if I can go off and fight a bunch of Death Eaters, I should be able to say HIS name. And I am getting better at it. But for right now, I just wish you wouldn't. Maybe because you don't really understand what it means, not like Harry or other people who say it."

Xander imagined how ridiculous he looked to people in the stores: two guys, seemingly having a moment on a nearly empty street when it was so cold his eyeballs were freezing. But for some reason he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"I live on top of a Hellmouth," he blurted out. He hadn't planned on saying the words, but once they were out he found he had no regrets.

Neville stared hard and stayed silent. When there was no immediate answer, Xander began to worry that their "sharing time" was possibly a one way street only.

Finally, Neville said, "What's a bloody Hellmouth?"

Xander laughed out loud, which quickly turned to a wince when his cracked lips flared up. "Doesn't anyone pay attention to History of Magic?"

The Neville who'd appeared moments ago, the version who'd seen too much of life too soon, was replaced by the Neville of usual boyish cheer. "Just Hermione."

Neville nodded toward the Three Broomsticks further up the road, and Xander fell in step. "You're telling me," Xander said. "She gave me the bad cop/bad cop routine when we had our first tutoring session."

"So you didn't answer my question: what's a Hellmouth?"

"The Hellmouth?" Xander said breezily, grabbing the front door to the bar and holding it open for Neville. "It just happens to be the epicenter of demonic energy on the planet, and attracts all sorts of dark creatures of pure evil, which makes Sunnydale, the town on top of it, and my 'home crap home,' probably the deadliest place on Earth."

"Oh," he added as Neville came to an abrupt stop at the threshold of the door. "It also does wonky things with wizards magic to the point that the Americans kinda treat people who go there like they're infected with cancerous cancer of the cancer, so that's why no school there would take me."

Neville blinked owlishly as he paced into the bar. "Oh come on. You're winding me up, right? Right?"

As they made their way to an empty table between some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Xander debated on how much farther to go. He'd kept the secret of the Slayer because he feared putting her in some kind of danger. But this was Neville he was talking about, the same kid with a love of plant life and who still flushed when talking to a person with breasts.

To be safe, he should probably stick with the original plan, and keep his mouth firmly zipped. But even though he was in castle full of kids his age, he realized he was lonely. Keeping secrets created a wall between you and everyone else, no matter how much you tried to blend. He had these wonderful friends back home who did so many fantastic things, and he had to pretend like none of it existed. He wanted nothing more than to brag to Seamus that the girl he ogled in the picture earlier today had saved the world, and not in the metaphoric sense. Buffy deserved that kind of recognition, deserved to have it shouted from every corner, and he couldn't even tell his dorm mates. He was tired of it, tired of the burden. He needed to share with someone.

Besides, if you couldn't trust the guy who saved you from a runaway broom, who could you trust?

"If you think that's crazy, wait til you hear about this one-hundred pound superhero I know."

It had to be one of the more interesting lunches Xander had taken part in. Besides the occasional bite of food, Neville's jaw was firmly on the table during Xander's entire description of the previous year in slaying. The whole scene was that much funnier considering the guy who grew up with elves and unicorns had trouble believing in Xander's kind of supernatural. He had to assure Neville many times that yes, he was telling the truth.

He finally wrapped up by describing the Master's swan dive from the top of the library, making sure to use the spoon for his stew as a stand-in for the huge stake that pierced the Master's chest.

"So wait," Neville began as they left the Three Broomsticks a little while later, "they're 'together together?' Your friend Buffy and this vampire guy? As in a couple? But isn't that just, wrong?"

"Thank you!" Xander said. "Willow, Buffy, and Giles make me feel like I'm living in frickin' backwards land sometimes, where one plus one equals three, or Klingons are good guys."

The air on the outside was just as cold as earlier, but the sky was clear from the lack of snow fall. There was a fine sheen of ice and snow all around the village, and the entire sight hit Xander in a little part of his childhood that never got to experience this. He and Neville started walking back toward Hogwarts, the snow crunching under their feet.

"Once again Neville, you cannot tell ANYONE about this? Alright?" He looked over at the round faced boy, trying to make him understand the magnitude of the secret he'd imparted on him. If it did get out, it could not only make Xander's life at Hogwarts full of unpleasant staring and whispered innuendos, but it could legitimately lead to someone on the wrong side wanting to get to the Slayer through him.

But his fears were unfounded. Neville's chest puffed out, and he nodded vigorously with the kind of conviction someone portrays when they've been honored. "Don't worry, mate," he said, "I promise that your secret is safe."

They just managed to avoid smashing into a group of giggling third years running out of the candy store. "Thanks man. I trust you, I do, its just a matter of - crap"

Neville looked at Xander when he stopped talking. "What's the problem?" he asked.

Sadie Hayne (a name Xander would now never forget for all eternity) walked out of some little cafe with a small group of laughing girls, no more than half a block from where he and Neville stood. She looked much like she did during their ill-fated first meeting, with her genial air and ever present bright white smile. This time though her cheeks were flushed a rosy red, and her face was mostly obscured by her large frames and the huge blue hat on top of her head.

Xander dreaded what was about to happen next, and had gone out of his way to avoid having to talk to her ever since his huge epic failure. It was too bad; he'd really liked her during their short confab. Still though, not getting read the riot act in the middle of the street was his real goal now.

"You wouldn't happen to have one of those invisible capes on you, would you Nev?" Xander asked, but never takin his eyes off of Sadie and her friends.

"It's an invisibility cloak, and no, sorry. Why?" Neville followed Xander's line of sight. "Are you trying to hide from Shady Lane or something?"

Xander's head whipped toward Neville's so fast he was afraid it might fly right off. "Whhhhaaaattttt?"

"That Hufflepuff over there, her name's Shady Lane."

"How'd you hear about that?" Xander asked in a panic.

"I don't know." Neville's face definitely showed that he had no idea what was going on. "Some kid called her Shady Lane a few weeks ago, some people overheard it, and I guess it's kind of stuck. Apparently she gets mad every time someone calls her that, which obviously means that people do it twice as often. Hey, you okay?"

The entire time Neville was speaking, Xander was shaking his head faster and faster, until he let out a groan.

"Neville, if you ever see me talking to a girl again, feel free to shoot me, stuff me, and mount me."

Xander looked toward Sadie again, waiting for her to catch his eye and try and kill him with hate rays. Instead of spotting him though, she started rubbing the lenses of her glasses, finally letting out a huff of air, ripping the glasses off her face, and trying to scrub them with the edge of her coat.

Xander saw his chance. "I don't know why her glasses are all wet, but thank you science!" he muttered to himself. "Come on Nev, let's go this way."

Xander and Neville hurried along the street, both making sure to avoid looking at the group of Hufflepuffs while trying not to run into any other students. They walked past without incident, and Xander felt lighter on his feet.

That is until they made it two streets forward.

The sight of Theodore Nott and his cronies cackling as they exited the Hogs Head greeted Xander as they turned the corner. Even their laughing sounded hellbent and malicious. They stood a good thirty feet away, and were definitely pleased at something they had just done.

Ever since he'd started classes, Nott and his friends had gone out of their way to make Xander's life at Hogwarts as miserable as possible. Whether it be knocking his books out of his hands, pointing and laughing, or even calling him a "Yank" followed by some sort of British lingo that Xander had yet to figure out, but could imagine was not of the nice, Nott had not missed an opportunity to make the point that Xander was not wanted. With his greasy hair and beady eyes, Xander felt a twinge of unbridled nastiness every time he glimpsed the boy, or Snape for that matter.

That's why he was struck with the sudden impulse to grab a childhood's worth of memories in the next few seconds. A son of Southern California didn't get the chance to enjoy snow, and no matter how cold he was feeling, he wasn't going to let this opportunity pass.

With Neville looking on, Xander flashed a grin and slowly made his way to the edge of the building on the other side of the street. Its location gave the perfect cover for what he intended.

"Sorry Nev," Xander said as he bent down, "you might want to run now, in case there's any blow back. I've never done this before, so if I do it wrong, I apologize. But then again, I'm pretty good at aiming at stop signs, so this shouldn't be too different."

"What are you talking about?" Neville crouched beside him, whispering in a strangled voice. Xander didn't answer; instead he reached down and grabbed snow in both his hands. He may not have been an expert on packing snow, but he had a feeling that fate was on his side today. He smashed the snow together, his hands stinging in protest.

Neville caught on quick, a wicked gleam in his eye. Xander kept looking down at his hands and up at Nott, making sure his target wasn't getting too far away. But Nott was complying with Xander's silent request; he and his cronies hadn't moved very much from The Hogs Head.

Xander stood very slowly, afraid to spook his prey. The streets were moderately crowded with kids either heading back or going from shop to shop, so luckily Xander could blend in when it all went down. With a deep breath, and a prayer to whatever may be listening, he jumped into the street, cocked his arm back, and let fly the first snowball he'd ever thrown in his life.

He stood there, gazing as the snowball arced over the crowd, catching the rays of the sun trying to press through the sky. It seemed to hang in midair for a lifetime, making this whole experience stretch out for one agonizing moment to the next.

Then time seemed to speed up. His snow ball plummeted from the heavens, and with a 'pop!' collided with the back of Theodore Nott's head.

Xander's first reaction was to "whoop" in joy. But before he could, the cool head of Neville Longbottom had summoned the wherewithal to grab him by the shoulders, and smash both their bodies along the side of the building. Sure, it blocked Xander's line of sight, but once the all encompassing glee of making Nott look like a jackass left his body, he realized that thankfully, they were also out of the line of sight of the Slytherins.

"What the hell was that?"

He and Neville exchanged glances. That did not sound like the kind of person who was in on the same joke they were. With practiced movements, Xander slowly extended himself from beyond the wall to take a peek.

Nott was rubbing the back of his head, knocking off the remnants of Xander's success.

The rest of Nott's boys, including Jonathan Avery and Frank Meade, two fifth year Slytherins that hung around Nott like puppies, were doing their best to hold back their guffaws.

"Hey!" Nott screamed at his cronies, which immediately wiped the snickers and snide looks off their faces. "Did you see who it was?"

They shook their heads 'no', and quickly averted their eyes. The kids walking along the intersection, whether from the look on Nott's face, or some ingrown ability to avoid danger, gave a wide berth to the slowly angering Slytherin.

"One of you had to see something!" he bellowed, twisting to and fro to get a better look. Just before he shot his glance down the alleyway, Xander pressed himself against the wall once more. Now his heart beat a mile a minute. It was a stupid move to pull, but one that felt utterly necessary at the time. Besides, his first snowball actually hitting his school enemy? There's some serious poetic justice in that.

"Don't just stand there!" Nott screamed. "Do something and find whoever threw it!"

Xander and Neville glanced at each once more, but this time there was some serious reservations on both their faces. Xander leaned forward and looked out again, just in time to catch the Slytherins quickly scurrying about, trying to find who happened to throw that wad of ice against Nott. They were grabbing kids off the streets, scaring each and every one with their aggressive attitude.

"We should get out of here. Like right now," Xander whispered.

"That sounds like a great idea, except for the fact that the only way back to Hogwarts is through the main street!" Neville was breathing heavily and looking worse for wear. He didn't appear to be completely freaked out, but he was well on his way.

They were getting closer. Nott's men were making their way across to where Neville and Xander stood. Xander took a glance back the other side of the road, and grimaced when he saw a dead end. With lightning speed he ran through every excuse in the book, trying to think of the words that would get them out of this with all their limbs attached.

Luckily the sound of a crash indicated he needn't worry.

The commotion that followed the noise allowed Xander and Neville to get a better look. Students were laughing and pointing, and this time not at good ole' Teddy. There was a prone figure on the ground in front of The Hogs Head, very much doing a fantastic imitation of a chalk body outline. Hovering over him was the grizzled form of what could only be the barkeep. His mangy bones were encased in ragged robes, and his long, matted gray hair hung below his shoulders, outstretched only by his thick beard.

"And don't let me catch you back in here!" he screamed at the prone body. And with that, he pounded back into the bar, but not before slamming the door behind him. Xander and Neville watched in amazement as the dead body turned into Seamus, who rose to his feet, a grin from ear to ear stretching on his face.

"Come on," Neville said. He grabbed Xander's arm, and dragged him into the street. Xander was about to protest until he understood that Seamus' little show had drawn a crowd, which was the perfect cover to blend into. They both fought their way to the front, where a red faced Seamus was trying to walk back to Hogwarts.

"Told you you couldn't pull it off," Neville said once they made it alongside the walking Irishman.

Instead of glaring in anger, Seamus seemed to get that much more full of himself, which was no tall order to begin with. "What did I tell you earlier? Oh yee of little faith."

Very discreetly, he reached into his jacket and flashed the label of a bottle entitled 'Ogden's Fire Whiskey.' At Neville's amazed look, Seamus added, "When flattery doesn't work, it helps to have invisible fingers."

Seamus burst out into laughter and threw his arms around Xander and Neville. "Come on lads," he began, "if you're nice, and tell me how wonderful I am on this 'oh so chilly' walk back to the castle, I might let you sample from the finest!"


End file.
